Major Major
by deburke
Summary: Major Mary Margaret Collins, new administrator for the hospital on Vella la Cava suffers no fools, especially Black Sheep, including Major Boyington.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Major Mary Margaret Collins deplaned the cargo plane on Vella La Cava. She walked down the steps into a waiting crowd of young pilots in various states of dishevelment and partial military attire. When she left the last step, three or four rushed the entrance as cargo was being unloaded and the rest formed a bucket brigade-like chain unloading crates and boxes and barrels. One young man, tall, blond, neatly in uniform, even in the South Pacific heat, stood at attention and saluted. She waved off the salute, saying "At ease, Lieutenant, ah, Casey is it?" "Yes m'am!" "Welcome to Vella la Cava on behalf of the 214." "Thank you, Lieutenant," she returned, amused by his earnestness, wondering if it were a put on.

Chaos, was erupting all around them, when another pilot, this one older, rakishly good looking, stepped forward, giving Casey a shove. "Major," he started, acknowledging her rank. "Collins," she supplied. "Major Greg Boyington. I'm in charge of these screwballs. What brings you to la Cava?" She shook his proffered hand. "I'm the new administrator of the hospital. I've come to give Dr. Jennings a hand with things. I think someone's meeting me here to take me to the hospital." She looked around, but didn't see anyone waiting in an idling Jeep. They stood taking each other's measure. He was not tall, but powerfully built. He wore a kaki t'shirt and pants. He looked relaxed and amused by her presence. She was in her travelling uniform, blouse and skirt and regulation heels. Auburn hair pulled up under her cap. Serious.

"Well, if someone from the hospital doesn't get here soon, I'll get one of these knuckleheads to drive you over." "I appreciate that, Major," she said." "Greg," he reminded her. "And you, Major Collins, what should I call you?" She waited a beat, considering her response. "You can call one of your knuckleheads over to take me to the hospital." She played it straight faced. Her green eyes taking in the airstrip, the planes, the man-boys pillaging the supply shipment. He looked at her, unable to read her expression. "Boyle!" he shouted, almost making her jump. "Take the Major here over to the hospital, and try not to get her killed on the way there. Ok Boyle?" "Right, Pappy," Boyle replied jogging up to them, taking her duffle bag and escorting her to a nearby Jeep. Greg watched them speed off, hands on his hips. He spun on the squadron. "Casey! Get this stuff loaded up and moved to storage!"

After she stowed her duffle in her quarters, she met with Dr. Jennings. She knew from her briefing that he was a skilled physician but a poor manager. His head nurse had been reassigned under murky circumstances, and no one had stepped up to fill the void. He was flying by the seat of his pants. There was no duty roster for the nurses and orderlies, no schedule of daily and weekly tasks to keep everything clean and organized. It was a miracle the place looked as good as it did. Supplies, if they were available, were completely disorganized and scattered willy nilly all over the hospital. She'd have to get an inventory of everything they had and rearrange storage areas with some kind of system.

Next she met the nurses. She knew from their records that they were all more than qualified, but could tell some of them were little more than silly girls with nursing degrees, and not much real world experience. There were one or two whom she determined she could put in charge, and the others might amount to something eventually. She gave the two she thought she could trust a list of things she wanted done by end of day, and sketched out other duties to be assigned and done weekly.

Next, Dr. Jennings showed her to her office. It had been one of those random supply dumps. All manner of items and boxes and refuse was strewn about, and dust covered every surface. She took a deep breath and set to work to make this her center of operation. After several hours, she and few of the nurses had carted several loads of supplies out of her office and to another room where a few other nurses were cataloguing everything before they could figure out where it all would go. She was wiping a layer of dust off her desk when Boyington stuck his head in the door. "How's it going, Major. Settling in alright?" he asked looking around at her handiwork. "Major Boyington, what brings you here?" she asked, barely looking up from her task. "I had to bring one of the boys back to have his stitches removed," he offered. "Combat injury?" she asked. "Of a sort," he replied. "I see," she said, now wiping her desk with some polish. She noted that the Black Sheep would be using the hospital to fix them up not only after their combat missions, but after their own brawls with each other.

I'm curious, Major Boyington,"You look a little old for a fighter pilot," she observed, taking in his handsome, weathered face, blue green eyes with smile lines at the corners, and recognizing the self-possession of a man clearly a decade older than his charges. "I'm a late bloomer," he replied, not missing a beat. She gave him a sideways look and said, "I doubt that." Boyington was enjoying himself. He leaned back against the credenza, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth, his eyes almost twinkling. "Was there something else, Major?" she inquired, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, but refusing to show it. "I still have a lot of work to do," she said, hoping he'd take the hint and leave her to it. He pushed himself up from where he'd been leaning and said, "Of course, Major," and executed a perfect about face pivot and strutted out of the office. She watched him go, thinking, "he even looks good from behind," and let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "He's gonna be trouble," she mused, shaking her head.

The next morning, as the Major got to her office, she heard a commotion on the ward. She had an idea who the perpetrators were. When she got down to the ward, it was in complete chaos. Two or three patients remained in beds after last week's air raids on one of the other bases in the Solomons, but the rest of the ward was filled with Black Sheep, blowing up gloves and bouncing them around the room, a couple of the nurses were playing along, others were making projectiles and toys out of anything at hand. Major Boyington was in the corner talking to Dr. Jennings who was examining TJ Wiley, checking his heartbeat, his reflexes, drawing blood, etc. They seemed oblivious of the melee.

The Major walked into the room, and after several verbal attempts to restore order (she'd be damned if she would ask Boyington for his help), she looked around the room at the pilots and homed in on her target. She calmly walked up to Jim Gutterman, and before he realized what was happening, she'd grabbed his right hand in hers and bent his little finger back until she felt resistance, and then some more, but not enough to break it. Gutterman sank to his knees, trying not to cry out in pain, his face beading with sweat and turning red in the struggle. It had happened so fast. He hadn't had time to react or pull away. The room grew quiet as the men and the nurses saw what was happening. Greg and Dr. Jennings, alerted by the sudden quiet looked up. Greg crossed his arms across his chest and watched with interest what was unfolding. "Now," she said holding the pressure steady on Gutterman's finger, applying more, when he tried to struggle. "I want all of you out of here and in the waiting area where you belong." The Black Sheep looked at each other, at Jim on the floor, then at Greg. Greg thought he'd just let this play out and see what happened. "Aw, we were just having a little fun, Major, " Jerry Bragg offered. "Tell them to get out, Capt. Gutterman," she said, applying more pressure. "Out. Now," Jim croaked, hoping his voice wouldn't crack. His eyes were tearing from the pain and embarrassment. The Black Sheep filed out of the room, and she released Gutterman, who got up, his right hand cradled in is left, and skulked behind them. The look on his face was scalding, anger and humiliation at once. Greg watched them go, then watched the Major follow the men into the waiting area. He and Dr. Jennings exchanged looks, and Greg left the doctor to see what was happening in the waiting area. "Now if any of you raise your voices out here, overturn any furniture, or wreak any kind of destruction, or even litter, I'm going to have to use another technique in my bag off tricks to subdue you boys. Do we understand each other?" The Black Sheep looked around at each other. Some of them barely containing laughter, others looking a little shocked, then in unison: "Yes, M'am!" "Right," the Major continued, "Now Melinda will call you back one by one for your physicals. And someone will bring Captain Gutterman some ice for his finger. I assure you it's not broken." She turned to leave just as Boyington was entering the waiting area. She kept her head up, eyes straight ahead and strode back to her office, glad they'd relented so easily. She didn't have anything else in her bag of tricks . . . . yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

By evening, what had happened at the hospital was the subject of animated conversation in the Sheep Pen.

"And you just stood there, watching," said Jim, pointing a finger at Pappy. Now Greg stood at the bar, pouring two fingers of Scotch into a glass. "She had everything under control. I saw no need to intervene," he said suppressing a grin. He admired her technique and a few of her other assets.

"You're supposed to have our backs, Pappy," spat Jim, swooping his hat off his head and slapping it on the table in front of him, wincing at the pain in his hand. "I don't like her, not one bit," said Jim. "Things were going just fine over there. No den mother denying us access to the nurses."

"You can't tell what she's thinking. It's disturbing," Jerry chimed in.

"It's that stone face of hers," said Boyle.

"Melinda says she's ok, just wants things run the right way," added Casey.

"Well Mitsy says she watches her every move, constantly correcting her, warning her someday she's gonna need to do everything without a second to think. She makes her nervous," said French.

"I think she's beautiful," admitted TJ.

"She'd turn you to stone, my man," suggested Anderson, taking some poetic license, warming to the topic.

Greg listened to the Black Sheep, without comment, letting them get it out of their system. She'd handled the Black Sheep pretty well, using surprise and leverage, where he often used his fists. He understood her efforts to be unreadable. It was a poker face. He used it plenty with the Black Sheep. While their antics often amused him, he couldn't always show it and maintain authority. Knowing when to be a part of the unit and and when to stand apart from them was a balancing act good leaders knew how perform. But he and the Major were more or less equals, and she wouldn't give him the time of day.

Greg snagged the bottleneck in his fingers and headed for the door. "Hey Greg, where ya goin'," French shouted as he noticed him leaving." "I've got strategizing to do. Shut it down before midnight, boys," he shouted over the din. "Early patrols in the morning. Don't make me come back and shut it down for you," he warned and was gone. Speculation about the Major and the nurses continued, growing more ribald and exaggerated with each pull from a beer bottle, each shot of whiskey.

Back in his tent, he wasn't strategizing for the morning patrols. Boyington had another aim in mind. The Major and her poker face. He was going to find a way to call her bluff.

By Friday night of her first week, the Major was exhausted. She'd worked with her nurses to get the supplies organized and stored where they could be easily found. Everyone had their shift schedules, daily, weekly task assignments. They were getting to know each other, and she knew who her reliable nurses were and the ones she'd have to watch closely, help them along to become responsible, be able to act in a crisis; they had to be ready.

She'd just gotten back to her quarters, not much more than a corrugated metal shed, but it had most of what she needed. It's last inhabitant had installed a real bed, rather than a cot. There was a metal shower stall, sink, and toilet in the tiny bathroom. She had a hot plate and an icebox, a small table with two chairs and an old sofa she'd gotten Anderson and Boyle to haul over from the hospital one day while they were loitering around. She was pretty well set up. She had changed out of her fatigues, showered and put on a pair of shorts and blouse, and was sitting down to open the mail she had brought unopened to Vella la Cava when there was a knock at the door.

When she opened it, she found Dr. Jennings standing there with a liquor bottle and two glasses in his hands. After a long week of working closely together, they were now on a first name basis. "David, "what have you got there?" "Mary Margaret, only the finest Kentucky bourbon. Well, rotgut really, but bourbon." "I could use some after this week. Let me pull these chairs out onto the porch; we can catch the sunset." While she didn't suspect any ulterior motive in his presence on her doorstep, she didn't want anyone seeing her invite him in.

"Things seem to be running along smoothly, now that you're here. You've done a fine job of setting us on the right track," he said handing her a glass and raising his in a toast. She raised hers in return, and sipped. She grimaced. "That's awful!" "Isn't it," he said. "You won't notice after the next one. By the way, that was quite a display you put on with the Black Sheep earlier this week. I think Boyington was impressed. And it's seemed to have it's desired effect. They aren't running quite so wild," he added, polishing off his bourbon. He refilled his, offered her another. She tossed back what remained in hers and held her glass out. Well, I used what I had at my disposal. They have to know they can't use this hospital as their own personal playground, and I wanted it to come from me; otherwise, I'd have to rely on Boyington to keep them in line all the time." "He's generally the only one who does," David said. "I just wish they'd put some of that energy into something constructive," she offered. "My dear, they are the terrors of the South Pacific, the best fighter squadron in the theater. I think that's constructive enough," he said. "I see your point," she conceded. She dropped the subject, and they talked of other things.

Half a bottle of bourbon later, a little white bull terrier trotted up to them and sat right in front of Mary Margaret panting, tail thumping. "Well, hello, who are you?" she said, patting his head, then scratching his ears. "Meatball," Dr. Jennings said. "Meatball?" "Meatball! I told you to wait for me!" she heard Boyington's unmistakable growl. "There you are Doc. I was just looking for you over at your place," he said in a more congenial tone. He nodded at Mary Margaret, "Major." "Major," she returned, offering him a faint smile. Progress, Boyington noted. She looked younger out of uniform, her hair braided over one shoulder, one leg tucked under the other on her chair.

"Greg, come join us, Mary Margaret and I have been drinking and putting the week to bed as it were. "Mary Margaret," Greg said, giving her an appraising look. "Only the doctor here and my mother call me Mary Margaret. Usually, it's just Margaret, sometimes, Maggie," she said. Boyington nodded, then as if remembering why he'd come, "Doc. I just came by to remind you of the poker game tomorrow night at The Sheep Pen. Major why don't you come. You'll get to see the Black Sheep in their native habitat," he said, offering her an inviting smile." "Why not Major," she said. "I might be a bit rusty, but I love a good game of poker." Boyington clapped his hands, and rubbed his palms together, grinning. "Great, see you both there around 7. Bring cash and be prepared to lose it." "You might be surprised, Major," Mary Margaret said, her face lighting with a smile of her own. He stood for a moment longer, appreciating what that smile did to her face. "We'll see about that Mary Margaret," he said, then walked into the night, Meatball trotting along beside him.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A reviewer on the fanfiction site asked about Mary Margaret's rank and branch of service and gave me some information. After some research of my own, I decided that she is a navy nurse and her rank is Lieutenant Commander. So I'll have to come up with new title eventually. And this is still a fun exercise, and I don't claim to strictly adhere to fact, truth, or history. Hope you enjoy.**_

"Greg, what were you thinking inviting that woman over here for poker night," Jim asked.

"That's gonna cramp our style with the nurses," Boyle chimed in.

"No one is going to have any fun during or after." It was Anderson's turn.

Greg held up his hands: "Ice it, guys. Just ice it. It's to everyone's benefit to extend a little hospitality."

"You think a little hospitality is gonna get her to open up the doors to the nurses quarters?" Jim wanted to know.

"No one's been on lockdown. You just got used no one monitoring the situation. We play nice, maybe things ease up a little," Greg offered.

"How nice are you gonna play, Greg? asked French. That brought on a wave of laughing and hooting.

Greg waved them off. "Best behavior tonight, you meatheads. And clean this place up. It's The Sheep Pen, not a pig sty," he said on his way out.

Mary Margaret spent the morning returning letters to her parents, telling them about her new assignment and assuring them that it wasn't a dangerous posting. She wasn't sure how much the occasional strafing and attacks on the bases in the Solomons made it into the newsreels and papers back home. She hoped her little white lie wouldn't be found out. At this writing, at least, it wasn't a lie.`

She spent the afternoon in her office catching up on paperwork and tidying up her office after a busy first week. She told herself she was not working tomorrow, on Sunday. She was going to take the day off, walk the beach, maybe take a run. She desperately needed the exercise. She'd been cooped up at the hospital and in her office all week. She was looking forward to the break tonight too. Have a few drinks, make a little extra cash, then get a good night's sleep.

After evening mess, she went back to her quarters to figure out what to wear to this poker game. She chose a pair of loose fitting trousers, short sleeved blouse and leather flats. Her wavy auburn hair was swooped off her face in combs and secured at the nape with a clip. She put a little powder on her face, hoping it wouldn't turn into a caked mess by the end of the night in the tropical heat.

A little before 7:00 p.m., she heard a horn beep outside. When she looked out her door, a Jeep full of nurses was parked right out front. "Commander, we're going to The Sheep Pen, do you want a ride?" "Go on without me. Doc Jennings is taking me over in a little bit." They blasted the horn again and drove off, their laughter rising above the noise of Jeep's engine. Mary Margaret shook her head, smiling and stepped back inside to get her cash together for the game.

By the time she and Doc Jennings got there, things were getting under way. Three or four tables were set up for those who wanted to play poker, and space had been left on the floor for dancing. The jukebox was playing. Tables made up of mixtures of guys and girls were already playing. A haze of cigarette and cigar smoke was already floating in the room.

Mary Margaret and Doc were shown to the table nearest the bar. Boyle was already seated. He had made a visor out of an old cap and was wearing sleeve garters. He was making a show of shuffling the cards. Doc and Mary Margaret took their seats with Boyington and Anderson joining them around the table. Gutterman sat nearby, glowering.

Mary Margaret lost the first game, but she chalked that up to a warm up. Then she won the next two. She raked her winnings across the table. During each game, she watched her opponents carefully. Doc had a tell. He cleared his throat when his hand was a stinker. Boyle, had no poker face at all and just played recklessly. She could tell when he thought he had something or when he didn't. Greg and Anderson were a different story. Boyington's strategy was a combination of distraction and bluff. He could concentrate on the game and distract his opponents with stories and jokes at the same time, all the while looking like he was just in it for fun. Anderson seemed to enjoy the challenge and changed his strategies so much she couldn't peg him. With those two she had to keep her focus, trust her instincts and outbluff Boyington. All in all, she was holding her own against those two cardsharps.

And she'd had a chance to observe Boyington in his element, using charm, and deceit and good humor to get others to do what he wanted, which in this case was to get them to give up their money. She could only imagine what these skills accomplished when used on women. Yes, she could imagine.

TJ kept Doc's glass full of that awful bourbon they kept behind the bar just for him.

Casey had been assigned to keep her glass full. After a while Mary Margaret turned over her glass. "Leave the bottle Lieutenant but get lost. I can manage my own consumption," she said and made a shooing gesture with her hand.

Casey shot a glance at Greg, who nodded almost imperceptiby.

During a break between hands, French came over and asked, "Where'd you learn to play poker like that m'am?"

"I spent 6 months on a hospital ship. There's not a heck of a lot to do on your down time."

"I can think of a few things," said Boyle. This was followed by raucous laughter. Many others had now gathered around to watch what was going on at their table.

"There's a good bit of that too," she said, "and privacy becomes a commodity; sometimes you play for it."

"Hey, why didn't we think of that?" asked French. "C'mon" he said, hurrying back to his table with TJ, Jerry, and as many nurses. "Deal TJ!"

Greg watched French and the others for a moment. "See what you've started Commander?" and chuckled, flashing those dimples.

"You know about this first hand, Commander?" Gutterman sneered, hoping to embarrass her.

"None of your damned business, Captain," she said, without heat.

Laughter erupted around them, and Gutterman got up to pour himself a drink, then slouched back in his chair.

"What are we playing for? Cash or sack time?" asked Boyle, as everyone settled back down to play.

"Shut up and deal," said Mary Margaret, laughing, while Greg watched her from across the table.

Tapped out for the evening, Doc Jennings announced that he'd had enough and was headed back across the island. "Well, he's my ride. I'd better get going. Maybe I'll let you win more next time," Mary Margaret said. When she got up to follow Doc out, she felt a hand on her arm, holding her in place. "Let him go. I'll take you back. He tends to drive himself into the ocean or into the scrub," said Greg. "Well, I'll just drive, then," she said, taking a step toward the door, but Greg held onto her arm. "He's gone by now. I'll take you back." She turned to look at him. The Black Sheep were trying hard not to look like they were listening and watching this exchange, some pretending to concentrate on their games or taking to the dancefloor. Greg escorted her out of The Sheep Pen, his hand resting on the small of her back.

When the screen door slammed behind them, the Black Sheep crowded forward, looking out the screen after them. Jim stayed where he was. "Pappy's wasting his time. He's not gonna thaw that one," he prophesied. "You're just sore because she bested you at the hospital the other day," Anderson said returning to the table near Jim. "My money's on Pappy," Boyle chimed in, pulling his remaining greenbacks out of his pocket. "Who's in?" They gathered around the table near Jim and Anderson, money exchanging hands, even a few of the nurses wanted in on the action.

Greg drove her back by way of the beach. The moon was bright and lit a path across the water. He saw her looking over at the water and turned the Jeep to face it and put the vehicle in park. "It's so beautiful. So peaceful," she said, standing up and holding onto the windshield. She and Greg stood there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the waves and watching the moonlight play across the water. "Did you leave someone behind on that ship?" Greg asked turning toward her. Without looking at him, she replied, "Yes." "Is it over?" he asked. She looked at him, "Yes." He leaned toward her and kissed her lips, gently, testing to see if she'd respond. She did. The kiss deepened. She could taste cigar and whiskey, could smell aftershave under smoke. Oh! the smell and taste and feel of him. When their lips parted, she opened her eyes.

At some point she had balled the fabric of his shirtfront into her fist. She unclenched her hand and smoothed the fabric over his muscled chest.

"Um, I should be getting back," she said when she was able, in a voice that sounded far away to her.

Back at her quarters, Greg walked her to her door. "Thanks for the invitation. I had a lot of fun," she said, feeling a little steadier, though her fingers were loosely tangled with his. He'd given her a hand getting out of the Jeep and hadn't let go. "The invitation's an open one, nurses always welcome," he said, kissing her again. "Goodnight," she said, stepping toward her door. "I could stay for a little while," he offered. "Not tonight," she said. "Another time, then. See you soon, Maggie."

She watched him walk back to the Jeep. "I really like that view," she thought to herself, "coming and going." He hopped into the Jeep and sped back toward the beach.


	4. Chapter 4

**She'd hardly slept. She kept playing the night before over in her head. What was she thinking kissing Boyington under the moon, like some lovesick kid. She hadn't had that much to drink, had she? Well, it was just a kiss, two actually, but they'd turned her knees to water. This was like breathing to him. She got the scoop on The Black Sheep most mornings at breakfast with her nurses. They were all skirt chasers, including Boyington, though he tended to be more discrete than the rest of them. Not that there was a whole lot of space for privacy or discretion on such a small island and with such a finite population. Word is that Boyington had some regular girls on Espritos and over in Australia where the squadron went on leave. What the hell was she expecting to happen now? But she couldn't deny her attraction to him. She put the pillow over her face to muffle her cry of exasperation.**

 **She gave up trying to get back to sleep about six am and made a pot of coffee on her little hot plate. She was getting ready to go for a run, putting on a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, a cap, her hair pulled into a pony tail. She was looking for her Keds, when she heard the wail of an air raid siren. "Are you kidding me?!"**

 **She gave up looking for the Keds and put on a pair of field boots that were within reach and started for the door. As she stepped out into the morning light she heard the plane before she saw it, heard the telltale whistle of a descending bomb. She was almost to the door to the patient wing of the hospital, when she half dove and was half blown into the flower bed by the flagpole in the courtyard. She attempted to roll to break her fall and rolled into something hard and felt a sickening crunch. The wind was knocked out of her.**

 **When she got her breath back and tried to sit up, everything went white as the pain in her side shot through her. She wrapped her left arm across her middle and managed to get to her feet. She straightened up and swallowed her pain. Looking toward the hospital, she saw glass and window framing littering the walkway she'd taken flight from. She walked toward the doorway, just as nurses and patients came streaming into the courtyard.**

 **"I thought this hospital was marked!" she shouted to Melinda.**

 **"It was after last time."**

 **"Last time?! What the hell! How bad is it inside?"**

 **"No fire. Just glass and debris everywhere. Jeannie has a broken wrist. Most of us got down, but she got blown across the room." said Melinda.**

 **"Mel, leave me at least Rose and Becky, but take three other nurses and a couple of ambulances and get over to the 214. See what medical assistance they need."**

 **Planes were still flying over and they could hear explosions and gunfire on the other side of the island.**

 **"We'll get the ward evacuated and cleaned up. Hopefully that's all we'll get here. My guess is that was just a stray bomb."**

 **"Are you ok? Melinda asked, looking at Mary Margaret's pale, strained face.**

 **"I'm pissed! Now go! And be careful!" she added heading for the door. Mary Margaret's adrenaline was pumping.**

 **Melinda ran back to the other entrance to collect the personnel and supplies they'd need to provide emergency medical help to the air base.**

 **Mary Margaret headed first for the ward, where the remaining nurses were helping patients out of bed. Those who couldn't walk were helped into wheelchairs. Others, were put on gurneys and rolled out. Melinda was right, there was glass and debris everywhere. But the walls and the roof were intact.**

 **"Rose, Becky, keep getting these patients out of here. We'll get the corpsmen to start cleaning this up. I think the planes are done with us. Give it another 10 minutes then we'll move everyone back inside. I'm gonna go down the hall and take a look at things, but I think the waiting area will work for a temporary ward."**

 **"Yes m'am," they said and went back to work.**

 **Mary Margaret stopped a couple corpsmen and gave them instructions, and took still two more with her. "Go see what kind of shape the waiting area's in. I'm gonna go find Doc Jennings."**

 **The hallway leading to the waiting area and her and Doc Jennings' offices looked to be intact. She stuck her head in Doc's office, but it appeared empty. She started back into the hall when she heard a cough. "David?" she said. "Is it over yet?" a small voice said from inside the room. Mary Margaret walked over to the desk and found David crouched underneath it, a bottle cradled in his arms like an infant. "Put a cork in it David. We've got minor injuries to start and God knows what coming in from the other side of the island which is taking a pounding from the sound of it."**

 **Doc scooted out from under the desk and unfolded himself. Mary Margaret took the bottle from him and sent him out to the new ward area to start seeing the patients being sent in from the courtyard. She held the bottle up and winced, feeling the pain in her side, but noted with some relief that he hadn't put too much of a dent in it yet. She sighed and walked into the waiting area to see what needed doing there and stashed the bottle in a filing cabinet.**

 **Half the squadron had gone on patrols, so when the air raid sirens sounded, Boyington shot out of his tent and ran to get Casey and the others. Meatball followed behind his master, then disappeared into some air raid shelter only he knew about. Boyington reached Casey's tent shouting over the noise of the siren and the planes, "Casey, get on the radio and let Gutterman know we're under attack, then let Espritos know what's going on." "Right Pappy," said Casey, bolting from his tent to radio shack.**

 **"French, Anderson, let's go, now!" barked Greg. The three of them sprinted to the flightline to get the planes in the air before they got blown up on the ground.**

 **"Roger, Black Sheep 1," said Jim into his throat mike in answer to Casey's report. "You heard the man, guys, time to head home. Tojo's tearing up the place."**

 **Jim and his half of the squadron were turning around as Boyington and the rest of the 214 were taking off to engage the enemy over Vella La Cava. "Just try not to drop 'em in our front yard or on the hospital," said Greg.**

 **"Roger Pappy," replied Casey**

 **"Your wish is my command," said Anderson, hot on the tail of a zero.**

 **"How far out are you Blacksheep 2?" asked Greg. When Jim relayed their coordinates, Greg suggested a plan where he and his team would chase the Japanese into the returning planes' sites.**

 **Meanwhile on the ground, Micklin and Hutch had jumped into the anti air craft gun's foxhole and were spraying ammunition at the Zeroes as they flew over, downing a couple and taking out engines, fuelines, whatever they could, hoping to at least criple them, so the BlackSheep could pick them off. Micklin manned the gun, as Hutch stood by, with ammo draped over his shoulder feeding it into the gun.**

 **Eventually closing in on them from both sides, The Blacksheep made quick work of the Japanese fighters. A couple slipped through in retreat and they let them go. "Let's head home, guys and see how much damage they did," said Greg banking to turn toward La Cava, his half of the squadron following suit.**

 **Back at the hospital, everyone had been brought back inside, corpsmen were working on the ward, putting what they could back together after cleaning up debris and glass. Everything that could be salvaged was moved down to the new temporary ward at the other end of the building.**

 **The ambulances had brought in patients from the air base on the other end of the island. So far, no deaths, no life threatening injuries. A concussion, some bullet and shrapnel wounds, scrapes and bruises of varying severity.**

 **During a lull, Mary Margaret caught Melanie's eye and gestured to meet her at her office. When Melanie got inside the door, Mary Margaret closed it and handed her an ace bandage.**

 **"I need you to help me with this," she said.**

 **"With what?" asked Melanie, but as she looked over at her, Mary Margaret was pulling her t'shirt over her head, revealing an ugly bruise over most of the right side of her ribcage.**

 **"I got blown off the walkway when the windows blew out. I think at least 3 are broken. Would you wrap them please. They're killing me," she said.**

 **"Jesus! Em. Why didn't you say something sooner. We really should get an X-ray."**

 **"No time. Forget the x-ray. Just wrap me. We need to get back out there."**

 **"Did you take anything for the pain?"**

 **"I've taken a little morphine to take the edge off."**

 **Melinda finished wrapping her ribs, and Mary Margaret pulled the t-shirt back over her head, gasping as she stretched her right arm through the armhole.**

 **"Some day off, huh?" Mary Margaret said as they both left her office. She snagged a lab coat off the coat tree on her way out to put over her t-shirt, so the wrap wouldn't show.**

 **Most of the patients had been treated by the time Greg and the Blacksheep showed up at the hospital. They came to check on the other marines from the camp who'd been brought over by ambulance, Jeep or other available means and kept for observation, to see the damage to the hospital, and to comfort the nurses. The Blacksheep fanned out into the crowd. Greg walked around checking in with his men, marines from the base, nurses.**

 **There was an atmosphere of celebration that the Japanese had been run off and no one had been killed. The kitchen had brought over sandwiches and coffee, and bottles had been produced and passed around.**

 **Mary Margaret walked through the ward talking to her nurses, thanking them for their work today, and checking on the patients they'd tended to. A few were staying overnight for observation. Others had hung around to visit with their friends. She looked up to see Greg standing by one of the marine's beds.**

 **"Commander, everything looks under control here," he said giving her a smile. He looked windblown, tired. Before she knew what she was doing, she slid her arms around him and gave him a hug. "I'm glad you guys made it back in one piece" she said. "Me too," he said. Returning the hug, he felt her flinch and heard her take in a breath through her teeth. He pulled back and looked at her to see what was wrong, but she'd released him and was already moving down the aisle, away from him.**

 **She stopped to talk to Micklin who'd been brought in with a wound to his shoulder.**

 **"So you're the one's got all them college boys and Boyington in a twist," he said looking at her, a cigar clamped in his teeth.**

 **"Your reputation precedes you too Sergeant. I hear you are part commando, part indian tracker and 100% mean," she said. "And frankly, after today, I'm glad it's true."**

 **Greg had joined Gutterman by the reception desk, and together they watched her charm Micklin, of all people.**

 **"Don't that beat all, Greg," look at Micklin smilin' at her and carryin' on."**

 **Greg watched as she patted Micklin on the other shoulder, reminding him to come back to have his bandage changed. Greg caught the look on her face as she turned from the sergeant. It was exhaustion and pain. She'd been working to cover it up while talking to him.**

 **"Ok, everyone, listen up," she said over the voices in the room. "It's getting late, and I need everyone who does not need to stay here as patient or staff to go home. Go blow off some steam if you need to, but my people, regular rotation starts at 0600 hours. Melinda and I will cover the overnight tonight. Now go on. Everyone out!"**

 **Mary Margaret headed to her office. Greg caught Melinda's eye and motioned for her to follow him. They both stood at the doorway to the Commander's office. She had lain down on her couch, exhaustion finally overtaking her.**

 **"Em, you should go back to your quarters and go to bed. I'll take the overnight. I'll get one of the other girls to back me up. Should be a quiet night."**

 **"Just give me a minute. I just want to lie down for a bit," she said, but it was clear she wasn't getting back up. She was out almost as soon as the last word was out of her mouth.**

 **Greg looked at Melinda. "What happened?" he asked as he stooped to pick Mary Margaret up in his arms, trying to keep her good side against his chest, one hand under her legs, the other under her right arm. She moaned, and shifted a little.**

 **As she walked with him to the exit, Melinda told him about the explosion and how Mary Margaret had dosed herself with a morphine and would only let Melinda wrap her ribs. "I'll be over in a little bit to check on her and give her a little more morphine to get her through the night. She's had to have been in a lot of pain, but she wouldn't let up all day."**

 **Greg laid Mary Margaret on her bed. He removed her cap, and gently brushed her hair off her forehead. Though unconscious, her brows were drawn together. Melinda was right, she'd need the morphine to get through the night. He took her shoes and socks off, noticing her muscular, shapely legs, his touch here gentle too, and covered her with a blanket at the foot of the bed. He watched her sleep, the rise and fall of her breathing under the blanket. It had been a long damned day for everybody.**

 **She woke not knowing what day or time it was, then yesterday came flooding back. The air raid, her broken ribs, the chaos and long hours following. She smelled coffee, and something like soap? She sat up, gingerly, her hand feeling the ace bandage under her shirt. She groaned as the pain of sitting up spread. She could see directly into her bathroom from this position. It was then she saw him, standing at her bathroom sink, shaving. His back was to her, and he wasn't wearing anything but a towel. She took a minute to admire his muscular legs, the powerful shoulders tapering to his waist where the towel covered that firm ass she'd so often admired. It was then that he spoke, blue eyes and dimples reflected back at her in the mirror: "Good Morning."**

 **Her eyes snapped up to his. With a crooked smile on her face, she asked "Is there something about last night I should know?"**

 **"You snore," he deadpanned.**

 **Must be the morphine she said, as she noticed the syrette attached to her shirt. She removed it and holding it up said, "Melinda's idea of a joke."**

 **"She thought you might need another dose to get you through the night," he said, as he turned, toweling his face off, and padding barefoot across the room to get his clothes off the sofa.**

 **"There's coffee."**

 **"Make yourself at home, Boyington," she said, as she gingerly stepped over to the hotplate and poured herself a cup. The sofa blocked all but his upper body as he put on yesterday's rumpled flight suit.**

 **She was a little fuzzy headed; the hot, strong coffee tasted good, and began to clear some of the fog.**

 **"Really, Greg, what are you doing here?" she asked, holding her coffee cup in both hands and looking at him over the rim.**

 **"I brought you back here when you crashed in your office. While I waited for Melinda to come check on you, I guess I fell asleep on the sofa," he said moving into the kitchenette.**

 **He reached across her to place his coffee cup on the counter she was leaning against. He took her coffee cup from her and placed it next to his. He placed both his hands on the counter on either side of her. She felt her pulse pick up with him so close. He kissed her lips. Her hands trailed down his back, resting at his hips.**

 **He stepped away from the counter and said, "Get that x-ray done today. And get some rest. I don't think anyone at the hospital is going to let you work today."**

 **"I don't think I'll fight them. Tojo owes me a day off," she said, walking him to the door.**

 **As he was leaving, he turned to her. "Maggie, the next time I spend the night, there's not gonna be a lot of sleeping." He swept her hair back from her cheek, leaving his hand resting on the back of her neck.**

 **"Promise?" she said giving him a teasing smile.**

 **He kissed her hard then, his tongue searching, then mingling with hers. "Promise," he said, leaving her with little doubt.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After Boyington left, Mary Margaret got a hot shower, as hot as she could stand it, letting the water run over her bruised side. The morphine induced fog lifted a little more.

A little after 0700, she joined the nurses at morning mess.

"Was that Major Boyington leaving your quarters this morning?" Mitsy asked, leaning forward, hoping for a hot scoop.

"Mitsy who you see or think you see coming or going from my quarters is none of your business, or anyone else's. You got that?" Mary Margaret said, staring the girl down over the rim of her coffee cup.

Rose and Becky, tried to look busy pushing their food around on their plates, suppressing grins.

"Yes, Ma'm," said Mitsy, her enthusiasm for the subject barely waning. She'd just find someone else to talk about it with later. Wait 'til she told Frenchie.

Mary Margaret wasn't really upset with Mitsy. If things went anywhere with Boyington, it wouldn't be a secret for long, but she wasn't going to feed the rumor mill, and she'd rather her staff be left with deniability.

An hour later, after her ribs had been x-rayed, she stood at the reception desk in the temporary ward talking with Melinda.

"What time did Boyington leave?" Melinda asked.

"You too?" asked Mary Margaret. "The girls were pretty nosey at breakfast this morning."

"Romantics. And young. They can't help it," said Melinda, folding a chart closed and opening another.

"What's your excuse then?"

Melinda shot her a look, feigning insult. "Curious, too, I guess. It's not his usual M.O.," said Melinda.

"What isn't," asked Mary Margaret.

"Well, being involved with someone here at the hospital for beginners. Too close to home for him. Too much like a steady thing."

"We're hardly involved."

"When I went by to check on you, he had pulled a chair close to the bed and was watching you sleep."

"He told me he fell asleep on the couch before you got there."

"When I came in, he was sitting right beside the bed."

"Well, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Melinda shrugged. "Just different for him. It's fun and games with him and most of his . . . .flings aren't with women who are going to be around long, most of the time, like I said it's off island."

"Well, I don't even know where things are going at this point."

"Everyone's going to be watching to see for themselves where it's going. It's a spectator sport around here.. There's probably a pool," said Melinda.

"I'm tiring of this conversation. I need some more coffee. And where is David with my x-ray results?" said Mary Margaret heading toward the break room for a cup of coffee.

On the other side of the island, the Black Sheep were on Pappy's case about the Commander at breakfast that morning.

"I heard you didn't sleep in your tent last night, Pappy," said Boyle, as Greg sat down with his tray.

"The Commander's got private quarters. That's gotta be nice," added TJ.

"I saw you drive up at 0600; you looked freshly showered to me, Pappy," said Jerry.

"You meatheads keep your noses out of my personal life, and eat up. Micklin wants us on the line at 0800 for inspections and maintenance," said Greg.

"He's not denying anything, gentlemen," said Anderson at the risk of provoking Greg further.

Greg glared at Anderson as he shoveled eggs into his mouth and washed them down with coffee.

"That goes for you too Bob, unless you want to meet me outside as soon as I finish my toast," Boyington growled, but the glare softened into a glint, as he bit into his toast.

The morning patrol landed just as the others were finishing up inspections and maintenance under Micklin's supervision and breaking for lunch. Jim reported that they'd been the only ones upstairs for hours before deciding to head back in.

After lunch, the Black Sheep loaded up a Jeep and headed for the beach with a football, a case of beer and a case of scotch.

Greg and Jim sat on the sand and watched the rest of the Black Sheep throw the football and play in the surf.

"What's going on with you and the Commander Greg? You sure that's a good idea?"

Greg raised a beer to his lips, his eyes on the horizon. "I've had worse ideas."

Jim snorted. Nodded. "I've been in the middle of one or two of them. Look, I get it. I've got eyes. And you've got a way with the ladies, Greg, but you have a short attention span. The Commander doesn't strike me as the kind of woman who's going to stand to be the flavor of the week."

"That's why I keep you around, Jim, to point out my flaws. Not that I owe you or these knuckleheads any explanations," he said gesturing with the beer bottle toward the boys on the beach, "but If it makes you feel any better, nothing happened. She got hurt in the blast at the hospital. I took her home and put her to bed. I fell asleep on the couch. End of story."

It wasn't really though. Ever since she'd landed here, he'd been trying to make time with her. Part of it was the thrill of the chase. She was someone new on the island, good looking, closer to his age, even though that rarely stopped him, but it was more than that. She didn't take any crap, not from her nurses, not from the Black Sheep, and she kept Doc Jennings from completely climbing into the bottle. He liked her. He respected her. And he enjoyed testing her boundaries.

"I just think it's a bad idea, and we're all gonna suffer for it when it goes south. Have you got a plan for when that happens, Greg?

"Have I got a plan? When have I not had a plan? You worry too much, Jim," said Greg getting up to intercept one of Jerry's passes and send one spiraling toward Casey in the surf.

Over the next few weeks, Mary Margaret worked and rested as much as she could, doing as Doc Jennings said, to tend to her broken ribs. The x-rays had shown what she already knew. Three ribs broken, 4-6 weeks of pain and discomfort. Hot and cold compresses, aspirin. Swell.

Boyington would sometimes come to have a cup of coffee with her, or sit on her porch with her and Doc or a couple of her nurses into the evening talking, sharing some whiskey, but not pushing to come inside or stay later when she begged exhaustion. A tension hung in the air between them.

The Black Sheep were underfoot a good bit. Things must have been slow in the Slot. She was always running into one or two at the hospital, sometimes finding them in places they shouldn't be with some of her staff who should've known better, especially during work hours.

One morning, she barely resisted the temptation to kick TJ in the ass as she threw him out of the supply closet down the hall. It was the third time this week she'd found him somewhere he shouldn't be with one of her nurses. She'd found him with Annie pressed up against the utility sink, heavy necking going on. TJ had been undaunted, smiling and telling her "Commander, Annie and I were just checking out the cleaning supplies."

She'd admonished Annie for fraternizing on the job and contaminating her uniform and sent the poor girl nearly in tears to go change and report back to work in 10 minutes.

Mary Margaret was going to have to find something constructive for Wiley to do around here.

Another day, she caught Anderson and Boyle smuggling lab supplies out of the hospital in a wheeled laundry bin. Their wheeling the bin was suspicious enough, but she'd heard the clinking of glass and metal in the cart and stopped them.

"Conducting experiments in your spare time boys?" she asked as she uncovered the contraband.

Accomplished liars, they'd immediately begun spinning a wild tale. "We have top secret orders," said Boyle.

"From very high up," added Anderson. "We have a chance to further the war effort Commander, and you could be instrumental in making that happen."

"But we have to swear you to secrecy," said Boyle.

Mary Margaret crossed her arms and looked from one to the other, one brow raised in skepticism. "Do y'all really think I just fell off the turnip truck?"

Boyle looked uncertain. Anderson gave her his best boyish grin, and shrugged.

"What you have here are the makings of a still, am I correct?"

Anderson and Boyle looked at each other, then at her.

"Why yes, Commander, you are," said Anderson.

"What is it you are planning to make? I thought you guys could get anything you wanted in your barter and trade operations," said Mary Margaret having heard about their deals from the nurses and corpsmen.

"Oh, I just like to see what I can conjure up in my spare time. I excelled at chemistry in college before the war," said Anderson.

Mary Margaret sighed. "Guys, put half of this stuff back, and you can take the other half. And Anderson, if what you distill is any good, I want a regular supply."

Anderson beamed. Delighted with the turn of events. "Yes, M'am! You got it. Then he and Boyle turned the cart around to return half of it's contents.

"You taking up bootlegging Commander?" It was Boyington. Where'd he come from? she wondered, with a little jolt of surprise, and pleasure. She never ceased to be amazed that a man that good looking existed, let alone practically and sometimes literally right on her own doorstep.

"I'm just trying to keep your pilots from robbing me blind, Major," she said.

He chuckled, a smoker's laugh which she found sexy.

"Take a break. Take a walk with me."

She looked at her watch, looked at him. "Why not?" she said smiling.

"The Black Sheep seem restless and bored. They're haunting the hospital more than usual," she said to Boyington as they strolled toward the beach

"It's a lull. Tojo's found other playgrounds. It happens."

They walked along the edge of the water. The breeze on her face felt wonderful and loosened her hair which she'd pulled up this morning. She took off her jacket and draped it over her arm.

"I've had to eject T.J. several times this week. He's going to force me to do something embarrassing to him."

Boyington laughed. He liked the way she handled the Blacksheep. So far she'd never bugged him to intervene on her or the nurses' behalf.

"T.J.'s not very subtle and not easily discouraged," he said.

"So I'm learning."

"Come on, let's have a seat," he said leading her to a blanket spread out on the sand with a picnic hamper at the center. This site was tucked up between some dunes, not readily visible from either direction from the beach.

"What's this? You were pretty sure I'd take a walk with you," she said, an amused look on her face.

"If you'd said no, I'd still have had a nice quiet lunch away from those knuckleheads," he said, kneeling down and unpacking the picnic hamper. He had all kinds of tins of food, smoked oysters, pate, crackers, cheese, tins of cookies, and . . . .

"Is that wine?!" she exclaimed with such enthusiasm, she startled him. "Oh my God! I've been dying for a glass of wine since I got here!"

Thank God he'd gone with the wine, rather than a bottle of scotch, he thought.

He uncorked the bottle and poured some into a coffee cup for her. "Cheers!" he said tapping his cup against hers.

She sat on the blanket and they passed food back and forth, sampling out of tins with forks he'd lifted from the mess.

"Where'd you get all this stuff?"

"Black Market, friends."

She suspected she knew what kind of "friends" sent him food like this.

He was enjoying the look of pleasure on her face as she tried the different foods and the warm glow the wine brought to her face. She was usually hell bent on some task she had before her, and he enjoyed watching her plow ahead, but he liked seeing her like this too, relaxed, enjoying herself.

"Wine at lunch. I'll be useless this afternoon."

"Take the afternoon off. We can make a day of it," he said.

She was tempted as she sat on the blanket, feeling relaxed, slightly tipsy.

"So how'd you end up in our little war?" he asked.

She'd taken her boots and socks off and was sitting cross legged on the blanket.

"I went to nursing school out of high school. I knew I didn't want to stay home, get married and have babies like most of my classmates and like my mother would have liked me to," she said, looking out over the water. I'm from a small farming town in Georgia, but I went to Atlanta to school, then worked in the City for a while. When the war broke out and there was a call for nurses, I signed up."

"You've done well for yourself," he observed.

"The Navy's been good to me. I can be good at following the rules when I need to or when it gets me what I want."

"Which is?"

"A promotion when I want it. The assignments that I ask for. But when it doesn't get me what I want, I've learned employ other means. Kind of like what you guys do, just not with as much flagrant disregard for authority."

"So will you stay with the Navy when this is all over?"

"If the Navy can get me through medical school. What about you? Will you stay in the Marines?" she asked looking over at him. You don't strike me as a career military type."

"I try not to think too far ahead, but I can't see it. If I make it out alive, maybe I'll join up with another volunteer group like the Flying Tigers, or go into espionage."

She looked to see if he was kidding about the last bit. He was wearing his poker face.

That he or any of the Black Sheep might not make it home from the war was a very real possibility and one they faced every time they went up in those planes. She had to compartmentalize or thoughts like this would make her crazy.

"You like the thrill of it, don't you?

"We're all adrenaline junkies, goes with the territory."

They sat there, side by side for a few minutes, just watching the surf. Then he leaned toward her and brushed his lips across her cheek. She could feel his razor stubble against cheek, her neck, her jaw, as he gently kissed each spot, waking her senses, making her pulse quicken. She smelled good, of soap, shampoo; whatever it was, it made him want her more. She turned toward him so that her lips found his. His arms went around her. He'd hardly touched her since the bombing, and she realized now how much she'd wanted him to. His hands reached under her shirt to touch her bare skin. Before she realized she was doing it, she began unbuttoning his shirt. He unclasped her bra. She kneeled before him and he tugged her shirt over her head. He looked at her. Her hair tumbling out of its pins and over her bare shoulders, her breasts firm, rising and falling as she looked back at him. Neither of them had any hesitation. He ran his thumbs over her nipples. She closed her eyes surrendering to the sensations. He lowered his mouth to one nipple, ran his tongue around it, then the other, sending a ripple of pleasure through her. He put an arm around her back and lowered her onto the blanket. She managed to unbutton the rest of his shirt and push it off his shoulders and run her hands over his chest, feeling warm muscle and hair. He lowered himself to kiss her, so that she felt her skin meet his, her arousal intensifying. She held his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. He trailed his hand over her breast, down her side, over a shadow of the bruise left from her injury, to the fly of her pants and started unbuttoning. He kissed her lips, her throat, her breast as his land slid between her legs to caress her. She arched and let out a ragged breath. Before long, he was taking her to the brink, but she didn't want to go over, just yet. She reached for his fly, unbuttoned it; he finished it for her and took off his pants and shorts and helped her out of hers. He positioned himself between her legs, looking down at her. She was naked, beautiful in the full daylight. He eased himself into her, and they began moving together. They were warm, fluid, rhythm. As their breathing intensified, so did their movements. Waves of pleasure washed over her. He was taking her to the edge again, and she almost couldn't stand it when her orgasm began and broke over her like a bright light, like a wave as she grabbed his ass, and rose up to meet his final thrusts as his own orgasm crashed over him. Groaning, he buried his face in her neck.

It was a few minutes before either became aware of the crashing waves, or the breeze again. Their breathing began to return to normal. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky. She pushed the picnic basket off the blanket and pulled the edge of the blanket over both of them, realizing they were out in the open, naked, in the middle of the afternoon.

"Wow." She said, laying on her side, her head propped on her hand, watching his profile, the rise and fall of his chest. He turned his head, his blue eyes roving over her face as a smile broke across his own. "Yeah," he said. "It was only supposed to be lunch, I swear." She laughed at how things had quickly turned from lunch to something else.

"We should probably get dressed before someone finds us out here," she said. She scrabbled around under the blanket, feeling for her clothes and came back out mostly dressed, just putting the t-shirt back over her head.

She had his shorts and pants in her hand and tossed them so that they overshot the edge of the blanket.

"Hey!" he said, holding his hands out in a silent question, why?

"So I could watch you retrieve them," she said teasing.

She got a good look at that asset she so admired as he walked away from her to collect his clothes. It was like the rest of him, firm, beautiful. A work of art.

"Nice . . . . architechture . . . .," she said.

He leveled his blue gaze on her, then unselfconsciously stepped into his shorts and carried his pants over to the blanket and finished dressing. She held his shirt out to him.

They spread the blanket back out as if they'd just been picnicking. Greg was lacing up his boots when a Jeep horn sounded.

"That must be Casey. I told him where I'd be if he needed me."

She fished around in her cargo pockets for a rubber band. She pulled out the few remaining pins and smoothed her hair against her head, pulling it back in a pony tail.

"How do I look?"

He looked her over. "Like you've just been made love to on the beach."

"Oh God!" she said, putting her face in her hands.

Greg laughed. "Don't worry about it. Casey will pretend he doesn't see anything."

She finished lacing up her own boots, and was stowing the blanket in the basket when Casey pulled up in the Jeep.

"Sorry, Pappy. M'am. But it's General Moore. He just landed and asked me to find you. He's got something to discuss with you." Casey took in their slightly rumpled appearance. The Commander wasn't looking him in the eye.

Greg cursed under his breath and ran a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair, finger combing it into place.

"Alright, let's go. You can drop me off, then take the Commander back to the hospital," Greg said, taking the picnic basket from Mary Margaret and putting it into the back of the Jeep. He hopped into the back seat, letting her sit up front with Casey.

"Well, I have to talk to the Lieutenant anyway," she said, hoping she didn't sound like she looked. "You've got some new personnel, and I need their records, then I have some business to discuss with him," she said looking over her shoulder at Greg then at Casey.

Casey and Greg exchanged a look, but Casey seemed to decide that it was ok with Greg, so he shrugged and put the Jeep in gear, to head back to the base.

Casey dropped Greg off at the ops shack where General Moore was waiting for him. Both Casey and Mary Margaret saluted the general as Greg vaulted out of the Jeep. General, this is Lieutenant Commander Mary Margaret Collins, the new hospital administrator on the island.

"Just Margaret sir. I'd like to lose the Mary."

"Pleasure to meet you, Commander. I hope these blackguards don't run you off."

"I don't scare easy, General. If you have some time after your meeting, I'd love to show you around the hospital. We've made a lot of improvements, even in spite of the bombing last month."

"I'll keep that in mind Commander. Thank you for the invitation."

Casey put the Jeep in gear and took them over to the office to get the personnel files.

"Attractive woman," General Moore said looking impressed.

"Yes sir," said Boyington. General Moore was the only man wearing brass Boyington showed any deference to.

Moore looked at Greg.

"Are the two of you . . ah . . . ?" the General let the rest of the question hang in the air.

Greg cleared his throat and ducked his head. "General why don't you show me what you've got there," he said, indicating the maps and other papers the general was carrying.

"Now wait a minute. I want to hear more about the Commander there," said General Moore, not to be put off so easily but taking a different tack.

Greg let out a breath. "She's a force of nature, General. She dropped Gutterman to his knees her first day; She plays poker as well as most of my men; she got blown off her feet a few weeks ago, but managed to work a 16 hour day with broken ribs; and now she's wheeling and dealing with the Black Sheep. If she knew how to fly, she'd take over the Squadron."

Moore was enjoying this way too much. "Sounds like you've met your match, Greg. I'm going to have to go over to the hospital and get to know this woman better."

"I'm sure she'd like that, sir," Greg said. He suspected she and the General would hit it off, which could be good for everyone on the island.

"Just don't let Lard get wind of whatever's going on with you two," said the General. "He'll find a way to get her shipped out of here and put some old battle axe in her place."

Greg grimaced remembering Delmonte. "Shall we look at those maps now, General? That way you can get over to the hospital and let the Commander show you around," he said, leading the way into the ops shack.


	6. Chapter 6

After she'd concluded her business with Casey, arranging a time for him to come and survey the hospital surplus for tradable items, Mary Margaret got him to drop her at her quarters so that she could freshen up in case General Moore decided to take her up on the tour of the hospital.

She got herself tidied up, shook sand out of her boots and pockets, fixed her hair and was back to the hospital as Greg and General Moore strode into the waiting area. Her heart started pounding partly because she wanted to make a good impression on the General, but also at seeing Greg for the first time after their time on the beach.

"I'm glad you found the time General," she said, avoiding Greg's eyes.

"So am I, Commander. How's David Jennings doing? We knew each other on Espritos."

"He's just fine, General. I believe he's in the ward. I'll take you to see him shortly."

She explained to the General about the relocation and the renovations to the ward after the bombing and the improvements to organization and inventory. She showed him the lab and the storage areas and explained everything that had been implemented by her and her staff since she'd come to the hospital.

"Commander, I'm impressed. I've never seen the hospital look better."

"Thank you, General. We've worked very hard on it."

At one point, she caught a glimpse of Greg out of the corner of her eye. The way he looked at her made heat rise from her toes to her face. She had to work hard to focus on what she was doing.

She was showing the General down the hall to the patient ward when she pushed Greg into the break room. "General, go on ahead. I'll get us some coffee and a little something to go in it. David ought to be in there to show you around."

"Stop looking at me like that!" she said as she rounded on Boyington.

"Like what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Like . . . like you've seen me naked," she sputtered.

"I have seen you naked," he said, enjoying her discomfort.

"Stop it!"

"Stop seeing you naked? I was hoping we were just getting started," he joked, making a move toward her.

She put a hand up to stop him, cupped another hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to focus. "Please go get the bottle of bourbon out of my lower right desk drawer."

He chuckled, planting a quick kiss on the back of her neck and was gone.

When he returned with the bourbon, she had 4 cups poured out with cream and sugar and added a healthy shot of bourbon to each and placed them on a tray. Boyington followed her out to the ward.

"General this is what my daddy calls an eye opener. Some people call it Kentucky coffee."

"Are you from Kentucky, Commander?"

"No, Georgia, Sir. Hopeulikit.

"It's very good Commander."

Mary Margaret laughed. "Hopeulikit is the town in Georgia where I'm from, General."

"Oh, I see," said the General, laughing with her. "Well, the coffee is still very good. I've done this myself a time or two but with scotch."

"When I make an eye opener, I leave out the coffee," said Greg.

"A man after my own heart," Doc Jennings chimed in, draining his cup.

The General visited with the men in the ward, shaking their hands, talking and laughing with them before preparing to leave.

"Commander, thanks for showing me around. I can see everything is in good hands here."

"Thank you, General. I'm glad you took the time to come by. I know we aren't under your command, but your men are treated here. I want you to know we're doing our best."

"I can see that Commander. Thanks again for the tour and for the coffee. Come on Greg. I've got to get back to Espritos. I hope the Black Sheep haven't mugged and robbed my pilot."

"More likely got him drunk, sir," said Greg, "then beat him at cards or darts."

The General looked at Greg. "Better not have. Let's go. Goodbye Commander."

"Goodbye General. Have a safe flight."

Mary Margaret saw them to the door, and stood a moment, arms crossed, looking after them as they left.

She took a deep breath, glad she'd gotten through that, and walked to her office. She was far behind on her paperwork for the day. Lunch on the beach and . . . . well, and then her discussion with Casey had taken up much of the afternoon, even before the General's visit. Now she'd have to get to work if she wanted her usual Sunday off.

She had just returned the bourbon bottle to her desk drawer and was sitting down, massaging her temples against an incipient headache when Annie appeared at her door and knocked.

Mary Margaret looked up. "Hi, Annie. What can I do for you?"

"Commander, I wanted to tell you I am sorry about the other day. I really do know better."

"Oh, Annie, don't worry about it too much. My main concern is that you keep that kind of thing to your off time and not in the hospital."

"It's just that TJ can be so persistent, and I . . . " she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Close the door, Annie and have a seat," said Mary Margaret.

As Annie did as instructed, Mary Margaret, pulled the bourbon bottle back out of her drawer and placed it on the desk. She reached in the drawer for two glasses and put them on the desk as well. God! Today she was drinking like the rest of them.

She raised the bottle with a questioning look at Annie who smiled and nodded, looking relieved.

"Annie, I try to cut the Black Sheep and you all a little slack. I think we all know that some of those boys may never make it home, but you should never, ever let them pressure you to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I really like him," she said looking at her lap.

"TJ's very likeable" when you don't want to wring his neck, she thought. "He's very charming and a fast talker."

"He can have any girl he wants," Annie said looking up at Mary Margaret.

"Are you afraid he's going to . . . move on to another girl?"

Annie nodded.

"Let him Annie. When and if he gets bored or rejected again, he'll come back around. They aren't really bad guys. But they are all adrenaline and hormones. When they aren't getting shot at, they're looking to get as much out of life as they can, while they can." God was she listening to herself? This pretty much described Boyington too; he just had a little more finesse.

"He told me the life expectancy for a fighter pilot is less than a year," said Annie.

"That's a line, Annie. It may have some truth, but it's intended to manipulate you, make you feel an urgency to give in to the hero," said Mary Margaret.

"It is kind of romantic, though," said Annie, her eyes looking off somewhere else.

"I suppose it is, Annie. But these boys aren't looking beyond today, so you have to. You're a nurse, so I don't have to spell it out for you. Obviously, there's the risk of getting pregnant, which means being sent home and in disgrace at that. I'm not moralizing. That's the reality back home, and you know it."

"Oh, I know!" said Annie, her eyes growing wide. "But they've got condoms, lots of condoms."

Mary Margaret was massaging her forehead now. "They're probably their biggest trade item after scotch," she muttered.

Annie and Mary Margaret laughed, and the tension eased a little.

Mary Margaret refilled their glasses. "And there are emotional consequences to having sex, sometimes moreso for us women. That's why I just caution you to not rush into anything."

"I just always thought sex and love went together," said Annie.

"Ideally they do. Hold out for love, Annie by all means. But that may not be what TJ or any of these guys is offering. But that doesn't mean that it can't happen either." Jeez, what happened on the beach wasn't about love. That was physical attraction that had been simmering then boiled over. That was lust. What would happen now was anyone's guess.

"It's all so confusing," said Annie.

"Tell me about it," said Mary Margaret smiling at Annie. "All the more reason not to let TJ or anyone else rush you into anything."

Annie returned her smile, feeling better.

"If TJ or anyone ever pressures you to do anything, you put the breaks on and you let me know, and you and I will figure out how to handle it, or I'll handle it. Ok?"

Annie nodded briskly, "Ok."

"And you can talk to me about anything, any time, Ok?

"Ok, m'am, thank you. I mean it."

"So do I," said Mary Margaret, massaging her temples again. "Now, let's go get some dinner. This bourbon's giving me a headache." So much for that paperwork.

Early in the evening, several of the nurses had gathered at Mary Margaret's place. The other week, Mary Margaret had convinced Jerry Bragg to roll an old wire spool over to her place that they were now using as a table, and they were sitting on wooden crates or folding chairs around it. Melinda, Rose and Becky had brought some beer with them, and Mary Margaret had produced a bottle of bourbon.

"I thought most everyone would be at The Sheep Pen tonight," said Mary Margaret.

"Things are a little tense over there," said Becky.

"We were afraid chairs and fists were going to start flying," added Rose.

"Pretty safe here, then," said Mary Margaret. "Except for this bourbon. Boyington's got wine, but he doesn't seem inclined to share it," said Mary Margaret.

"He will when he figures a good return for it," said Melinda, looking at Mary Margaret pointedly.

Ignoring the look, Mary Margaret told them about the visit she'd had from Annie earlier. "I felt really bad for her. She seems to have a real crush on TJ."

"I'm afraid he just might be too much for her. She's kind of naïve and inexperienced," said Melinda.

"And Jim says TJ flies nurses better than he flies Corsairs," added Rose.

"I'm not sure that's saying much," joked Becky.

"I just don't want to see any of you making the worst kinds of mistakes. And what about Mitsy? I don't know that she has sense enough to look out for herself."

"Oh, don't let Mitsy fool you," said Becky. "She's hardly the wide-eyed innocent, and she's got French wrapped around her little finger. She's completely in charge in that relationship."

.

Mary Margaret laughed, barely able to believe that mousey, bubbleheaded Mitsy had French right where she wanted him. But then French was kind of a bumbling sweetheart of a guy from what she could tell. "Well, maybe Mitsy can coach Annie on keeping TJ in line, if that's where he wants to be."

"And I'd like you three to keep an ear out for Annie or anyone else who might be kind of struggling with these guys, try to look out for them. They might not want to come talk to me."

"We try," said Melinda, "but you know sometimes people think they already know it all, and you just have to let them make their own mistakes."

Mary Margaret sighed. This could drive her crazy too, if she let it. "I know. But at least we can be there and offer some advice or help. If they choose to ignore it, there's nothing else to be done."

"Now tell me Melinda, how is it you seem to know so much about what's going on with everyone, yet seem somehow to not be involved in any of it?" asked Mary Margaret. She'd been curious who Melinda kept company with if anyone.

"It's not for anyone's lack of trying, like Gutterman for one," said Rose laughing.

Melinda looked at Rose with a look of forbearance. "You most of all should be glad he finally took no for an answer."

Rose laughed. "I am. Sent him right into my arms, thank you," she said laughing.

"You're welcome," said Melinda rolling her eyes.

"Melinda's got someone on Espritos," said Becky. "Keeps her out of trouble with The Black Sheep."

This was news to Mary Margaret. "Serious?" she asked Melinda.

Melinda shrugged, non committal. "Serious enough I don't take these knuckleheads up on their offers to pinch hit."

They all laughed. They refilled glasses and passed around snacks.

"Anyone else I should know about" Mary Margaret asked.

"Well, Becky's stringing Anderson along," said Rose.

"They're on again off again. What is it this week, Becky?" asked Melinda.

"It's not me. He only wants one thing from me, and he's going to have to put a little more effort into disguising that fact if he hopes to get it," said Becky. "He'd rather sneak around with Boyle stealing and playing with his chemistry set than court me, but when he's got a snoot full, who comes knocking on my window then? I damn near shut it on his fingers the other night!"

This got them laughing again.

"And just wait until they go on leave; then everything gets turned upside down," said Rose. "A lot of relationships don't survive when they get back."

"Most of them aren't exactly faithful when they go on leave," added Becky. "Some of the girls pretend it doesn't happen. Others never get over it."

Mary Margaret was taking in all this information. Who was courting whom, sleeping with whom. Who used to be couples, who were just occasional bed buddies.

"Where'd you disappear to today, Mary Margaret," asked Rose.

Mary Margaret was jolted by the question and began mentally scrambling about how to characterize her afternoon. Stick as close to the truth as possible, she thought. "Boyington and I had lunch, then I went over to the air base to meet General Moore, pick up some personnel files and see if I could convince Casey to include us in their trade deals for some hospital supplies and some things for us girls. Pretty much shot my afternoon. I'm still behind on paperwork."

"You and Boyington had lunch?" asked Melinda starting to suspect there was more to it.

Mary Margaret took a breath trying to decide how much she was going to tell. "He packed a picnic lunch and laid out a blanket on the beach. He had a bottle of wine," explained Mary Margaret, glad in the settling dusk they couldn't see her face.

"See?" said Becky. "That man knows how to put a little effort into it. He knows all about the art of seduction."

"So how was lunch?" asked, Rose.

"Lunch was delightful. He had all kinds of food from all over, sent by friends and family." In for a penny, in for a pound. "And then, we had each other for dessert."

Melinda almost sprayed everyone with beer but managed to turn her head just in time.

Rose burst out laughing.

Becky, incredulous, "What did you just say?"

"I'm not going to repeat it, and I'll deny it if you tell anyone I told you," said Mary Margaret.

"Oh, you can't just stop there! You and Boyington?" said Becky.

"Come on Becky, Greg's been trying to get her into bed since she got here," said Rose.

"I'd say he succeeded," added Melinda, "in a manner of speaking."

Mary Margaret, tossed back about an ounce of bourbon.

"Well, how was it?" asked Rose.

Mary Margaret was rubbing her temples, stalling for time.

The sound of a Jeep caught their attention and saved her from having to answer.

A Jeep full of nurses came to a halt in front of Mary Margaret's quarters. Mitsy was driving and put the vehicle in park. "We left just as the fists started to fly. I'm not even sure what started it," she said. "It was a powder keg all night," added Susan. "They've just been at each other."

"Well, anyway, before everything blew up, Anderson and Casey said everyone's invited for a luau tomorrow on the beach," announced Mitsy. "Starts about 10:30 and expect it to last all day."

"Wow, I might even get to go when I get off at 4:00," said Becky.

"Thanks for letting us know. And I'm glad you got out of there in time," said Mary Margaret.

"You're welcome. It'll be fun! They're going to roast a wild pig! I can't wait! See you tomorrow," said Mitsy, as she put the Jeep in gear and sped off to the nurses' quarters.

Rose, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation they'd been having, asked "So when are you going to see Boyington again?"

"Well, I guess at the luau tomorrow," Mary Margaret answered, already looking forward to it and nervous about it at the same time.

"He's probably breaking up the fight at The Sheep Pen tonight and mopping up the floor with them," Melinda offered.

"Maybe he'll stop by later," suggested Becky hopefully.

"I don't know. What I do know is that I've had it for the day. I'm calling it a night," said Mary Margaret collecting bottles and glasses and trash from the table and preparing to go inside.

"We'll be by in the morning to pick you up for the luau," said Rose. "Be ready by 10:00."

***Hopeulikit, Georgia is an unincorporated community in Bulloch County, but was not actually founded until the 1960's. In the 1920's and 30's the area was host to The Hopeulikit Dance Hall. I thought that was appropriate . . . .


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

That night Mary Margaret dreamed she was on a sinking ship. She'd managed to get in the water and avoid getting sucked down as it went under. Two lifeboats approached. In one was Richard, her former fiance. He was dressed in foul weather gear. He had a supply of potable water, dry clothes, food and a canopy stretched over a frame to shelter them from the elements. In the other boat was Boyington. In his boat was a case of scotch and crates of US and Japanese military surplus. He was shirtless and in cutoff fatigues and boots. He reached out his hand, smiling at her, his dimples and blue eyes doing their work on her. She took his hand and scrambled into the boat. That was all she remembered when she woke up.

She lay in bed as the dream receded. She hadn't thought much about Richard since she got to La Cava. Greg had asked her about him in only a vague sort of way, and she hadn't given anyone, not even Melinda, any more information than she'd given him, which was that she'd left someone on the hospital ship and that they were finished. She just wanted to put that behind her. More than anything, Richard had disappointed her. He knew about her aspirations for medical school, knew she'd left home to get away from the limited opportunities for her there, and had told her he supported her dreams and would live them with her. But then he'd begun to pressure her to resign her commission and go back to the states to wait for him. To stay with his mother, an Atlanta socialite, and his father, a prominent surgeon. He'd even suggested she get pregnant to speed the process of discharge along. She was outraged that he had forgotten everything she'd told him. Things had begun to unravel between them then. And it became obvious that she needed to put a lot of distance between them. She'd put in for a transfer and ended up on Vella La Cava.

Yesterday, she'd succumbed to Boyington's advances on the beach. Who was she kidding. She could have put the breaks on; she simply hadn't wanted to. She'd sort of been keeping him at arms length since she got here, but had finally just thought, the hell with it. They were both adults. She had no illusions that she was going to domesticate him. He wrote his own rules, served in his own version of the Marine Corps, even formed his own squadron, and kept the whole operation running on scotch and chicanery.

Maybe the attraction for her, beyond the physical, was that she knew he wouldn't make any demands on her to be something she wasn't. By all accounts, he wasn't looking for love or commitment. And she would only accept them on her terms now, anyway. She decided she was ok for now with just seeing what happened next. And truth be told, he and the Black Sheep added an element of fun and excitement to her long days of hard work. Things were never dull with them around.

Just shy of 10:00 a.m., she was showered and dressed in a green checked summer dress over her bathing suit of a similar shade, and her auburn hair in braid. When she heard the Jeep horn outside, she slipped on her Keds and headed out the door.

"Ok, ladies," Mary Margaret said before they took off, "When I get ready to head back to the hospital tonight, I'll blow the horn and give you five minutes to meet me at the Jeep, before leaving without you." They all agreed that if they weren't otherwise engaged they'd meet at the Jeep to return home.

As they pulled up at the beach, they saw the Black Sheep scattered about in various preparations for the day's festivities. Anderson and Boyle were tending the pit where the pig was roasting. They'd started the fire last night so that the coals would be ready this morning. The Pig was covered in potato sacks and palm fronds, sealing in the heat and allowing it to slow cook.

The nurses could see the results of last night's brawl in The Sheep Pen. Black eyes, split lips, bruised knuckles.

Mary Margaret and Rose brought some beer and bourbon over to the Jeep where the Black Sheep's stash of libations had been deposited. Jim and Greg were leaning on the side of the Jeep taking stock. Jim had a red welt on his cheek and scraped elbow. Mary Margaret noted that Greg was dressed much as he was in her dream, but in his bare feet. He appeared unscathed.

Rose fussed over Jim, touching his cheek, examining his elbow. "Why didn't you come by and let me take a look at this last night," she said.

"When we finally got it broken up, it was getting late, and Greg and I had a mission to go over," he said, holding her hands so she'd stop poking and prodding and fussing over him.

"You look like you came out without a scratch," said Mary Margaret to Greg.

"Except for the chair I took across the back of the head trying to separate TJ and Casey," said Greg gingerly touching the spot on his head.

Mary Margaret gently combed through the hair on the back of his head with her fingers, looking for the injury. When she touched it, he winced. "Sorry," she said, smoothing his hair back into place, her hand trailing down and lingering on his neck a beat or two longer. "You've got a nice knot there. Why do you guys do this to each other?"

"Passes the time," said Jim "and blows off steam, but we'll be going back to work this week."

"Bad for the Japanese, good for the 214 and the rest of us," remarked Mary Margaret. "Come on Rose, let's get ourselves set up. I want to take a swim."

Mary Margaret and Rose headed to where Melinda was laying out a blanket. Becky, who'd managed to switch her shift, Mitsy and a few others were doing the same nearby.

Greg watched as a short distance away Mary Margaret started to unbutton her dress. She saw him watching and held his gaze and slowly moved on to the next button and the next. Jim was talking to him, but it was clear he wasn't listening. "Greg, where'd you go?" asked Jim as he turned around and followed Greg's line of vision. Mary Margaret shifted her eyes just as Gutterman turned around. She kicked off her Keds and let the dress slide off her shoulders and pool at her feet, then stepped out of the fabric and walked toward the water. Her figure was more lean and muscular than curvy, but still feminine. Jim emitted a low whistle as he and Greg turned and faced the water's edge where pilots and nurses were gathering. Greg crossed his arms and leaned back against the Jeep.

"She sure looks good out of uniform," said Jim.

"Don't let Rosey hear you say that," warned Greg. But he had no argument with Gutterman. He intended to find an opportunity to be alone with her again, and under more private circumstances.

"I can look as long as I don't touch," said Gutterman, smirking and shifting his cowboy hat over his brow.

Greg rolled his eyes. Gutterman was incorrigible, but Greg knew he had no real interest in the Commander. Jim still hadn't completely forgiven her for embarrassing him in front of the men.

Mary Margaret was almost to the water's edge when TJ and Casey and French and Bragg met her there.

"Glad to see you made it, Commander," said TJ with mischievious grin.

Mary Margaret looked at all four of them, and it dawned on her what they were up to. "Oh, no you don't," she started as they closed in on her. Two taking her arms and two taking her legs.

Greg and Jim pushed off the side of the Jeep and watched as nurses and pilots turned toward the commotion.

"Oh, you guys are going to pay, said Mary Margaret," barely able to keep the laughter out of her voice. She thrashed and kicked, but without much force, merely for effect. It wouldn't be any fun if she didn't resist.

The Black Sheep walked into the water and unceremoniously tossed Mary Margaret in. The nurses descended on the boys trying to push them into the water. Mary Margaret surfaced and attempted to help Mitsy take French down.

"You should let your nurses fight their own battles," Greg said next to her ear as he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her down into the water.

"You're helping your men, now. How's that different?"

"I have ulterior motives," he said wrapping his other arm around her, holding her against him as the water boiled with activity nearby. She allowed herself to settle into the embrace, aware of each place where his body touched hers.

When it appeared everyone had gotten in the water or been wrestled there, Greg got an idea.

"Get on my shoulders," he said, releasing her and staying low in the water so that she could climb up. "Do you remember how to play chicken?"

"Yeah, I think so," she said steadying herself as he stood, raising her on his shoulders. She was keenly aware of his hands on her legs as she tucked them between his arms and his sides and hooked her feet around his back.

TJ spotted them first and shouted, "CHICKEN FIGHT!" The Black Sheep grabbed the nearest nurse and pairs started facing off against each other.

"I can't use my hands," said Greg, "but I can rush them and put them off balance, and you finish the job. Just try not to break my neck."

"Got it," she said. She took her braid and tied it into a knot on the back of her head, so it wouldn't be so easy to grab and take her down.

French waded toward them with Mitsy on his shoulders. Greg plowed toward them. It looked like they would collide, but Greg side stepped at the last minute and shoved into French from the side, knocking him off balance. Mary Margaret, gave Mitsy a shove in the same direction and slightly backwards, and over she went with a squeal.

Similar battles were waged, pair against pair. Greg and Mary Margaret and Anderson and Becky racked up the victories and then faced off against one another. Anderson was 6'4", so with Becky on his shoulders they stood taller than Boyington and Mary Margaret, and Anderson was attempting to lead them out into deeper water.

"Come on, Pappy, come and get us."

"Don't go any further Anderson. I'm not following you out there."

"Alright, let's see what the old folks got," teased Anderson.

"Follow my lead, Maggie," Greg said only loud enough for her to hear.

"Right." She had no idea what he had in mind.

Anderson and Boyington bore down on each other in water a little over waist high for Anderson When they got within arms reach of each other, Greg yanked Anderson's shorts down. As Anderson reacted in surprise and reached to pull his shorts back up, his motion pitched Becky forward slightly. Then Mary Margaret pushed Becky back enough to throw her off balance, got her hands under Becky's feet and launched her off Anderson's shoulders.

Greg backed them away as Becky splashed into the water and Anderson got his shorts rearranged on his hips.

"That's cheating, Pappy," said Anderson, plowing his way toward them.

"You know I don't care about that, Bob. I needed to level the playing field."

"You'd better bail, Maggie," Greg said as he got ready for Anderson to throw himself at him.

Mary Margaret got off his shoulders just as Anderson and Greg locked in battle and splashed and spun like gators. They surfaced a couple of times then one would wrestle the other back under water. By now everyone had formed semi-circle around them in the water. Boyle was taking bets on who would come out the winner. When they came back up again, Greg had Anderson in a full nelson on his knees. "Ok, Pappy," laughed Anderson, slightly out of breath, "I give!"

Cheers went up from those who had put money on Greg.

Greg released Anderson, helped him to his feet, and they splashed toward shore together, everyone parting and falling in behind them.

When the pig was ready everyone feasted sitting on their blankets. The Black Sheep had convinced the cook in the officer's mess to let them make some potato salad, some rice with coconut milk, canned pineapple and canned chicken, not exactly traditional luau food but close enough, to go with the roasted pig.

Later, many napped in the sun. Some got up to toss a football around or swim or play in the water. Mary Margaret swam and later watched a game of touch football, amazed by Greg's stamina, considering he was at least a decade older than most of these guys. But he was in better shape than most of them too, despite their youth.

Anderson produced and started playing a ukele he won in a poker game on their last leave, while TJ and Boyle, sporting grass skirts, swayed and shook in a sad parody of a hula, amid jeers and laughter. Eventually, Annie and Mitsy persuaded them to turn over the grass skirts and took over to appreciative hoots and whistles.

As the sun started to sink in the sky, French and Bragg started to dig a hole for the bonfire, and Anderson and Boyle brought over the remaining wood from the roasting pit and began to stack it in the bonfire pit. As dusk turned to dark, the fire caught and began to blaze, and everyone circled around it, some in pairs, some alone. Anderson strummed his ukelele absently. Mary Margaret noted that TJ had an arm slung over Annie's shoulder as they watched the flames. They were together most of the day and seemed relaxed and happy to be together. Someone started a bottle of scotch around the circle.

Mary Margaret had put her dress back on over her suit and sat hugging her knees to her chest in front of the fire. Greg wrapped a blanket around her and scooted up behind her. The bottle of scotch was passed to him and he took a swallow and handed it to her. She took a pull and passed it on.

"It's been a good day," she said to him, enjoying the crackling of the fire and the feel of his arms around her. She rested her head back on his shoulder. "The Black Sheep know how to throw a party."

"It's one of our specialties," he said, his voice low, his lips grazing her jawline, close to her ear.

She didn't want to leave him. She watched the flames of the bonfire dance for bit. Couples began to wander off. Some stayed snuggled by the fire. Those not paired up chatted animatedly amongst themselves.

As much as she wanted to remain in his arms, Mary Margaret was not interested in waking up on the beach or in his tent. Finally, she roused herself from the mesmerizing figures in the fire, and the sensations being so close to him telegraphed through her system.

"I'd better head back," she said. "I promised the girls I'd give those a ride back who wanted one. And I've had enough sand and surf for the day."

"The night's still young, Commander," he said, not loosening his hold on her.

"It is, and you don't have to spend it here either," she said, turning her head so that her lips were just a breath away from his.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Give me 30 minutes," she said, a little shakily, as his lips closed over hers, just a taste. Then she got up and headed for the Jeep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 **I've deleted couple of scenes that I plan to rework. Nothing else new here.**

She opened the door, dressed in a sun dress, her shoulders pink, fresh freckles splashed across her nose, her hair was down and damp.

"The sun agrees with you," he commented, his eyes moving over her appreciatively.

"If you like freckles."

The look in his eyes told her he did.

He held up his hands with a bottle in each. "What'll it be? Scotch or scotch?"

"Looks like it'll be scotch", she said, standing aside and letting him in.

He had showered and changed after the luau. His khaki's were clean and neat, his hair still damp. He smelled of soap and aftershave. God he was gorgeous, she thought to herself. She felt the inevitable pull of desire she felt every time she was around him.

She brought two glasses from the cupboard and poured a couple ounces of golden liquid in each.

"To a successful mission this week," she offered, raising her glass.

"I'll drink to that," he said raising his glass.

"That's so much better than that awful bourbon we keep around the hospital," she said.

"We keep Doc well stocked. Keeps him from depleting our supply, and I think he actually likes it."

"I think it gets the job done as well as anything for him," she replied. "Has he always drunk like that?"

"Long as he's been here. He was a field surgeon. I think he's seen too much," offered Greg.

"Haven't we all," said Mary Margaret. "Here's to forgetting."

He tipped his glass in her direction.

[insert revised scenes here]

When he opened his eyes he was on his back. Her head still rested on his shoulder and the arm he had around her had gone to sleep. For a moment, he was disoriented, forgetting where he was. Then he remembered. He'd gone to her quarters last night at her invitation. Their lovemaking on the beach had had the urgency of pent up sexual tension and the excitement of being discovered in broad daylight. But the privacy of her quarters had given them time to explore and enjoy each other.

He managed to sit up without waking her and ran a hand over his face. He looked at the bedside clock. 5:15. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd gotten. He didn't often spend the night with the women he slept with. He usually went back to his own bed long before dawn. Those he saw regularly on leave were ok with that. Those who weren't, he didn't see again. But he hadn't been in a hurry to leave last night or in the wee hours when they'd finally exhausted themselves.

Coffee. He needed coffee and a shower and shave.

Coffee. She smelled coffee. She opened her eyes. The clock said 5:45. There was a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts with one hand and sweeping the hair out of her face with another. She propped herself against a couple of pillows and sipped her coffee. Greg came out of her bathroom in his khakis, his shirt unbuttoned, toweling his hair.

"Morning," he said, smiling and coming to sit on the side of the bed. She looked sleepy and unguarded. The effect on him was stirring. They looked at each other for a moment, trying to gauge the morning after reaction of the other. Then he leaned in and kissed her. "I've gotta get back for what passes for reveille."

"When does your mission actually go forward?" she asked. Not knowing really what else to say, she focused on the day and the week ahead.

"I've got to head to Espritos today to meet with another squadron commander, General Moore and some brass from the Pacific command and go over strategy. I'll know more later today, but possibly Tuesday or Wednesday."

She sipped her coffee some more, running through things in her mind she could say to him, but discarded them one by one, all the while looking at him, lost in those blue eyes. Honestly, she could go on looking at him forever.

"I'll pray everyone comes back in one piece," she said. Fear was creeping into her belly.

"Always the goal," he said and kissed her again, then got up and finished dressing. "See you soon, Mags," he said, and let himself out.

Reveille at the 214 consisted of Greg and Casey dumping men out of their bunks who failed to show up for morning mess. The only time actual reveille was played was the time the Japanese had invaded La Cava and taken the men of the 214 prisoner. Then, Greg had convinced their captors to let him play the dusty record ostensibly to bring two of his men in who had the morning off, but he knew, rather, that it would tip them off that something was wrong.

The morning patrol in the air, Greg went back to his tent to get ready to head to Espritos. He nearly tripped over a package just inside his tent. He bent to pick it up, then seeing the return address, he put it back down and shoved it partway under his bunk with his foot.

Jim, was at his back, rapping on the tent frame. "Yeah, Jim," Greg said as he turned and caught sight of him.

"Guess I don't have to guess where you spent the night," said Jim with smirk.

"Then don't," shot Greg.

Jim put up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa! Things not going well? That's not what Rosey says."

"Jim, I gotta be on Espritos in a couple of hours about this mission. Remember the mission? Can we discuss your girlfriend's fantasies about my love life later? Is there any other reason you came here?

"Oh, yeah," said Jim. I plotted some more coordinates this morning. Why don't you and the brass take a look at these, too," he said handing Greg the set of maps he'd been working on.

"Thanks," said Greg, putting the maps with the other materials he was taking to Espritos.

Jim caught a glimpse of the package on the floor. "That from Ready Rita?" he asked referring to a nurse Greg often kept company with in Australia and who often sent him care packages of imported foods and other gifts.

Greg's mouth twisted as he thought about the situation with Rita. "Yeah."

"Uh, oh. Trouble down under?"

"Each letter gets a little more . . . . she wants to know when I'm coming back. She hints at transferring closer. She sends me her lingerie."

Jim stared at him.

"What?" asked Greg testily.

"A beautiful woman wants to see you, be closer to you. A woman who sleeps with you, and you're . . . . unappreciative," said Jim.

"I don't want her to transfer closer. I liked things just the way they were. I thought we had the perfect arrangement."

Jim shook his head. "What kind of arrangement do you have with the Commander?" asked Jim, starting to open the package.

"Give me that!" barked Greg reaching for the box. "And none of your damned business." Truth is the Commander and he hadn't been doing a whole lot of talking.

Jim held the package out of reach. "We might want some of this stuff, even if you don't," he said, pulling newspaper out and starting to examine the box's contents.

"Fine, take what you want; put the rest in the Sheep Pen. I don't want it."

Jim held up a pair of black lace panties, twirling them on his index finger.

Greg scowled. "And get rid of those."

"Does the Commander know that other women send you their underwear?" teased Jim.

"She's probably already heard that or worse from one of a dozen busy bodies on this island. Now quit fooling around and get lost. I gotta get ready to go," said Greg, holstering his pistol, and throwing his Mae West over his head.

"Say hi to Janet for me while you're there, added Jim, in a parting shot at Greg's back. Janet was a nurse Greg saw on Espritos when he had occasion to spend a night or two. He watched as Greg's stride hitched, watched his hands ball into fists as he continued to stalk toward his plane.

Bulls eye! Jim laughed to himself. He had wadded up the panties and stuffed them in his pocket. He took them out and held them up for a better look. "Mmm Hm!" he exclaimed. Greg's carefully orchestrated love life was getting away from him, he thought. He tossed the panties in a barrel of burning trash on his way to the Sheep Pen, the box of goodies from Australia under his arm.

When Mary Margaret got back to her quarters that evening, Meatball was sitting on her porch next to a wooden crate. He had a note rolled in his collar.

"How long have you been out here, Meatball?" she asked scratching his ears and looking around before unrolling the note. It read: "Chill a couple of these. See you soon. Greg."

She lifted the lid off the crate to find a dozen bottles of wine, both red and white and a couple of bottles of champagne. She laughed, remembering Melinda's comment about what it would take to get him to part with some of the wine she knew he had. . . .

She thought about sending a note back, via Meatball, but there was no telling who might intercept it. She lugged the crate inside, and put as many bottles of the white as she could fit in her refrigerator along with the champagne. She uncorked one of the reds and poured herself a glass. Meatball had followed her inside. She got him a bowl of water to drink and set it by the door, which she left open. She sat on the sofa, sipping her wine.

When she was on her second glass of wine, Greg appeared at her door. "I was wondering if my dog was coming home tonight," he said, walking in and stooping to stroke Meatball's head.

"He stayed after I opened your package. Thank you," she said. "Want a glass of this red?"

"Sure," he said, dropping onto the sofa, leaning his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

She handed him a glass of wine and sat down facing him.

"I can't stay long. I've got to iron some details out on the mission and make sure the boys shut things down at the Sheep Pen early tonight."

She looked at him. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He tossed back the last of his wine. He was like a coiled spring.

"Let's take a walk," she suggested.

"That's my line," he said, meeting her eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

She shot him an arch look. "If I were going to seduce you, I'd keep you here for that, and I'd demand your full attention, but something tells me a big part of you has already left for this mission."

He let out a breath, then refilled his glass. "A mission like this tends to be pretty consuming. There's very little margin for error."

Let's walk. You can tell me about it

"Bring the bottle," he said. Meatball trotted out behind them.

They walked toward the beach, Greg explaining the logistics of the mission and the dispute he was having with Jim.

It felt good to walk and talk rather than sit and pretend he wasn't thinking about it. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and gestured with his other hand while he talked, releasing his frustration.

He'd more or less wound down when they noticed a figure sitting in the sand a little ways up the beach. The figure waved a bottle. It was Gutterman.

"You have some things to discuss with him," Mary Margaret said, then she put her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. "Bring everyone home," she said, surprised at the emotion in her voice.

He pulled back, looking at her, and put his hand to her cheek. She turned her face, kissed his palm, then headed back the way they'd come.

"Where's your girl?" Greg asked standing over Gutterman.

"Says I'm not very good company tonight," Jim said sulkily. "Where's yours going?" Greg looked in the direction she'd gone but said nothing. "Put a cork in that scotch; we've still got some things to talk about for tomorrow, then we need to put the boys to bed," said Greg sitting next to Jim in the sand.

"We'll go over the final coordinates and times in the morning, but they remain pretty much as we discussed earlier, and I still maintain that TJ's got to be part of this mission."

"The timing's got to be precise on this one Greg; you know I'm right. TJ's fouled carrier decks every single time."

"The last time he did if for me," Greg said, referring to the time TJ had ignored the tower's wave off so that Greg, suffering a bout of malaria, wouldn't have to come around again before he could land. TJ had crash landed and the carrier crew had had to push his plane into the ocean. But Greg had landed in one piece.

"And it could just as easily be Brag to throw the timing or foul the deck. He always comes in on a tilt and has the little hop skip he takes on his landings. I can't seem to break him of that."

"Bragg's never shot one of us down, Greg. TJ's a wild card."

"He's the wild card that shot down Hirachi."

"He's as likely to hit and destroy the target as he is to shoot down one of our bombers instead. I just have a bad feeling, Greg."

"If I keep TJ from this or any other mission, I might as well send him to a desk job. He's either a pilot and one of us or he's not Jim. Treat him any different, and we shake his confidence."

"Greg, you've been waiting for him to rise to your expectations for as long as we've been together. He's my wingman. I love him. You know I do, but he could get us killed."

"We go. We do the job. We come home. Period," said Greg stabbing at the air with his finger.

Jim shook his head but stayed quiet. He knew it was pointless when Greg made up his mind. He'd just have to look after TJ and make sure he didn't get himself or anyone else killed.

"Let's go shut the Sheep Pen down, and get those yahoos to call it a night," said Jim, finally, as he stood and brushed the sand off his trousers.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning Mary Margaret stepped outside at just about sunrise. She was in her bathrobe with a cup of coffee in her hand. She could hear the roar of the Corsair engines on the other side of the island and knew the Black Sheep were leaving for their mission. She offered up a silent prayer that they'd have a successful mission and all make it back.

"They'll make it back," a voice said behind her.

Startled that someone seemed to have read her mind, Mary Margaret turned to see Melinda standing on the grass in front of the hospital, obviously doing what Mary Margaret had been doing, listening to the noise on the other side of the island and thinking about the pilots.

"Want some coffee?" offered Mary Margaret.

"Sure," said Melinda heading toward her.

"I can cook us some eggs if you want," suggested Mary Margaret.

"You have eggs?" asked Melinda as she followed Mary Margaret inside.

"I have powdered eggs. I have a kitchen steward who helps me supply a small larder. I discretely administered some pennisylan after his last leave."

"Yuck! Which steward?" asked Melinda.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be discrete would it?" asked Mary Margaret.

Melinda rolled her eyes.

"Help yourself to the coffee. The cups are over there, said Mary Margaret, putting a pan on her hotplate and mixing up some eggs.

"When are you going to tell me about your mystery man on Espritos?" Mary Margaret asked when they were seated and tucking into their breakfast.

"I'm not."

"Why do you get to keep secrets, but you now all of ours?" asked Mary Margaret between forkfuls of eggs.

"I prefer not to live in a fishbowl."

"You apparently have that luxury. Lucky you," said Mary Margaret aware that probably everyone on the island knew she and Greg were now sleeping together."

"Look Em, I just really can't, and I don't want to talk about it, and you have to trust me that it's for good reason."

Mary Margaret frowned. "Is everything ok? You make it sound kind of alarming."

Melinda shook her head. "It's nothing like that. Maybe I'll be able to tell you sometime, but not now. Don't ask me to ok?"

"Ok," said Mary Margaret, puzzled. "I'll trust that you're not in any kind of trouble. Because you know I'd help. You know any one of those guys would help," she said referring to the Black Sheep.

"I know. And really, it's nothing like that. You can trust me about that."

"I won't bring it up again," said Mary Margaret clearing their plates. "Help me finish off this coffee, and then I'd better get ready for work," she said topping off their cups.

By midafternoon, she was sitting at her desk going over reports when Doc Jennings came in with a bottle and two glasses. He set the glasses on her desk and began pouring before he spoke. She'd been on edge all day, waiting for some word about the Black Sheep, and it looked like Doc was preparing her for the worst.

He handed her a glass and sat down in the chair across from her. "I've just gotten word that Boyle's been picked up by search and rescue and taken aboard the USS Comfort. A head injury. They'll keep him until he's stable and the swelling in his brain goes down. Gutterman has superficial wounds and will probably be here in the morning. Wiley is missing." Mary Margaret paused with the glass half way to her mouth. "Oh God!" she said.

"Well, it's early days yet, where Wiley's concerned. They might still find him," said Doc, pouring himself another.

Mary Margaret looked at her watch. The rest of them might make it back before dark, she thought. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll need to talk to a couple of the girls."

Doc nodded, then pushed himself out of the chair. He topped her glass off then took the bottle and his glass and left. He seemed weary, his back bowed by the weight of this news.

She went and told Melinda the news so that she could relay it to the others, but she wanted tell Rose and Annie herself.

Summoned to her office, Rose and Annie sat nervously wondering what they'd done. Mary Margaret closed the door and sat on the edge of her desk rather than behind it.

"I wanted you both to hear this from me before it got around second and third hand. Jim and Bobby Boyle have been injured. Jim was not hurt badly and should be back in the morning. Boyle has a pretty serious head injury and will remain on a hospital ship until he's stable. Mary Margaret saw relief was over Rose's face, as Rose let out the breath she'd been holding since Mary Margaret started talking. Mary Margaret paused. She needed to just say it. "TJ is presently missing." Annie turned white and looked like she was going to pass out. Mary Margaret stood up and put her hand on Annie's shoulder. "Breathe Annie," she said, rubbing the girl's back. "Take a deep breath. Put your head between your knees, if you think you're going to faint." To her credit, the young nurse took a first hitching breath, then another. Her color returned, but then tears began to well in her eyes. Mary Margaret continued rubbing her back. "It's early. Let's keep hoping they find him, ok?" Rose was leaning forward, holding Annie's hands in hers. Annie sat up and brushed the tears from her cheeks and took another breath. "Better?" Mary Margaret asked. Annie nodded. Mary Margaret perched back on the edge of her desk. "I'm planning to go over to the Sheep Pen a little later on. Why don't you both come with me. Maybe the guys know more than we do."

"Yes, let's you and I go Annie, said Rose. "Ok," said Annie softly. She still looked scared, but at least she wouldn't be waiting alone.

After evening mess, Mary Margaret rode with some of the nurses to the Sheep Pen. When they got there, the boys were sitting around, playing cards, throwing darts and drinking. The mood was subdued. Most of the girls joined the Black Sheep at various tables. Becky sat at the bar where Anderson was handing out beer and whiskey. Rose and Mary Margaret joined her at the bar.

"Greg's on the radio, checking to see if anyone's found TJ," announced Casey as he came in the door.

Mary Margaret ordered a beer from Anderson. He popped the top and handed her the beer. She took a sip, then turned around to face the guys in the room. "You probably already know all this, but Boyle's on the USS Comfort. He's in good hands. They'll monitor him and keep him sedated until the swelling in his brain goes down and he can be sent back here. Capt. Gutterman should be back tomorrow. Nothing life threatening; he'll just be uncomfortable for a few days. He apparently didn't have his flak vest." She wanted to give them good news. Maybe that would somehow translate into hope about TJ's fate.

"Boyle has a pretty hard head," said Jerry. Some laughter.

"I didn't know he had a brain," joked French.

"It's Gutterman who's got to worry about brain damage if he caught some flak in the derriere," offered Anderson. More laughter.

Greg returned from his radio calls. His body language suggested there wasn't good news. "Nothing yet," he said, putting the glass he carried on the bar for Anderson to hit again.

Anderson topped him off.

"Maybe tomorrow when the sun comes up," Mary Margaret offered.

Greg made an inarticulate noise and tossed back his scotch.

The somber mood had fallen back over the room. The Black Sheep went back to dealing cards and throwing darts but with little enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I really am," said Mary Margaret, putting her hand on his.

Greg pulled a face. "Logistically, things went off without a hitch. We made our rendezvous with the carrier. We provided cover and escort the best we could have. TJ got shot down covering his wingman. Doing what he was supposed to do. He didn't screw up." Greg poured himself another scotch and handed her another beer. Anderson had gone to sit at one of the tables with Becky. Rose was throwing darts with Jerry and French. "There's just not a damned thing that could have been done about it," he said slamming his fist on the bar, sloshing scotch out of his glass.

Anderson and Casey looked over to see if things were going to escalate.

Greg grabbed the bottle off the bar and walked out the door of the Sheep Pen. Mary Margaret watched him go. She could feel several pairs of eyes on her and knew they were watching to see what she'd do. She turned back to the bar and took a sip of her beer. She'd give Greg a few minutes, then go looking for him.

She found him on the beach, sitting in the sand, watching the waves.

"Want some company?" she asked as she walked up to him.

He looked up and gave her a contrite smile. "I had to get out of there. I wanted to tear that room apart."

"You said it yourself; there wasn't anything you could have done any differently," she offered as she sat next to him in the sand. She reached over and ran her hand over his back and could feel the tension there.

He let out a breath. "I should get back to the Sheep Pen and see what kind of night it's going to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes you lose yourself in booze and women at times like this. Sometimes you pick a fight so you can direct your anger at someone. Sometimes you sit and wait for news with the rest of your squadron."

"But you won't hear anything tonight, will you?"

"Unlikely, but sometimes it's important to wait together."

"Like a vigil," she said.

"Yeah." He was not religious but he'd seen enough of the world to appreciate the value of ritual. "You don't have to stay. I can walk you home or grab a Jeep after I see what kind of state things are in."

"Several of my nurses are there. We care about you guys. I'd like to stay."

He helped her up, and they started walking back to the base, his arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist.

"Will you be going back up tomorrow?" She asked.

"We're on stand down until our leave orders come through."

The mention of leave brought her up short, and she hesitated for a second, making them stumble a bit.

"Sorry, I must have stepped on something."

But he felt her drop her arm. She put her hands in her pockets. He pulled his own arm back and tried to read her expression, but couldn't see her face clearly.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, but didn't offer anything more.

He decided to let it go.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, and when they got to the Sheep Pen, she went to sit by Melinda.

Greg looked over his shoulder at her as he went to the bar, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"What's going on with you and Greg?" Melinda asked. "He just looked at you like you've grown second head."

"I'll explain later. This isn't the time or the place."

That evening in the Sheep Pen there was plenty of drinking going on, but once they settled into the waiting, there was also a lot of joking and reminiscing about Boyle, about Jim, and especially about TJ. They also attempted to surround Annie and Rose, reassure them that the guys would be ok. Rose knew Jim wasn't seriously hurt, but she'd feel a whole lot better once he was back here for her to watch over. None of them knew if TJ was alive or dead, and they knew Annie was kind of vulnerable. She was young and in a fragile state, worrying about him. Boyle, didn't have a steady girl, but he was a beloved nuisance. So they gathered for comfort, to tell stories, and to hope.

Shortly before dawn, people started drifting toward their tents. Mary Margaret and the nurses headed back to the hospital. Everyone was hoping that first light would bring news of TJ's whereabouts. And Jim was due back at the hospital later that morning.

Greg watched the tail lights of the Jeep recede as Mary Margaret and the nurses headed back to the hospital. She had hardly said another word to him the rest of the night and had kept her distance. He'd sensed that she'd withdrawn from him, when she'd pulled away from him on their way here. He just didn't know what had triggered it.

Later that morning, Jim was settled into the hospital. He had to lay on his stomach, since he could not yet sit on his backside which was tender and had several sets of stitches where shrapnel had been removed.

"Captain, we sure are happy to see you back," said Mary Margaret. "How's your pain today?"

"It's not too bad, Commander. Rosie gave me a shot earlier. How long will I be here? I'd like to go on leave with the rest of the unit when the orders come through."

"I think we can make that happen, Captain, but you aren't going to want to be warming any barstools."

"I can stand at a bar as well as I can sit at one."

"You should be fine then. I recommend taking a pillow to sit on on the plane, but even that won't be too comfortable, I'm sure."

"Commander, I'm just happy to be alive. A little pain in the ass isn't too high a price to pay for that."

Mary Margaret laughed at him. "You know, I actually think this is your better side," she said.

"Everyone's a comedian."

"Look, Captain, I know you and I didn't get off on the right foot, and I want you to know it wasn't personal," Mary Margaret offered, referring to her first week on the island when she'd made an example of him in front of the men.

"Don't worry about it, Commander. We do worse things to each other in the 214."

"We can always just pretend we hate each other, though," she suggested.

He laughed at the thought. "I like the way you think, lady, ah, m'am." he said.

She winked at him, then tapped him on the backside with a sheath of papers she had in her hand, eliciting a howl from him.

Greg walked in as she left Gutterman's bedside.

"Morning," he said as he walked by her. "Morning," she said barely making eye contact.

"That woman's a sadist, Greg. I don't know what you see in her," said Gutterman.

"She and I aren't exactly speaking right now."

"Your life just got simpler my friend. One less woman on your hands," remarked Jim.

Greg ignored the comment. "Everything was fine early last night We were walking to the base, and then she just shut down."

"Women," muttered Jim.

"Yeah."

News about Wiley finally came just before sunset that night. Mary Margaret was finishing up paperwork at her desk when she heard the commotion. Anderson and Bragg had come to tell Gutterman that TJ had been found by a coast watcher and had been picked up by search and rescue. He'd be back in the morning. He had a badly sprained ankle but otherwise was ok.

Mary Margaret stood at her door as Anderson popped the cork of the first of several champagne bottles he'd brought to celebrate with. Rose had joined them at Gutterman's bedside and they passed the bottle back and forth.

"Commander! They found Wiley! He's alive!" shouted Bragg.

"I heard. That's great news!" she said, walking up to join them and sipping from the bottle of champagne they'd handed her.

The next morning Greg came to collect Gutterman and take him back to the base. TJ was due in later this morning for an evaluation of his ankle and then they'd be leaving on the afternoon transport if everything ran on time.

"Get him loaded up Rosey. Jim, I'll be right with you. I'm going to go find out what the hell's going on with the Commander," said Greg as he headed toward her office.

Jim and Rose looked at each other. Jim grimaced. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall in there," said Rose.

"Go finish your paperwork, I'll wait here. I wanna be here when he comes out."

Mary Margaret had done a pretty good job of avoiding Greg for the last couple of days. She went in to work early and took an early lunch, around the time the Black Sheep and Greg tended to come see Jim. Mostly, she stewed. She knew about Greg before she decided to sleep with him. She realized now that it had been a reaction to what had happed with Richard. She told herself she wanted the same thing she knew Greg sought with other women, sex with no strings. But it was dawning on her that she wasn't made that way. The sex was great. No denying that, but what she remembered was his sending his dog bearing gifts, him confiding in her, talking about the mission, the concern for his men, his frustrations and sense of the futility of a well planned mission if it led to the loss of one of his pilots. She knew things were heightened because of the stresses and tensions of the war, but she felt what she felt, and that was a growing attachment to him. Then his mentioning the leave brought her up short and sent all of that crashing down around her. How stupid of her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She berated herself. Her conversation with Annie about love and sex rose up in her mind as self-recrimination. And then she became angry. She wanted to take it out on him. The thought of seeing him or being around him made her want to grind her teeth, knowing that he'd be leaving soon and walking into another woman's arms. She didn't trust herself not to act like some harpy, some fishwife. Luckily, Greg wasn't exactly breaking down her door either.

Then, Greg walked into her office and closed the door. People have got to stop reading her mind like this, she thought.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Come in Boyington," she said sarcastically.

"Maggie, I don't have time to figure out why a woman's mad at me or what she's imagining I've done, when I'm getting shot at every day and especially when I've got two pilots injured and one missing."

"Then you should appreciate that I stayed out of your way while you waited for news about Wiley."

"You shut down, then avoid me for days. I don't appreciate the cold shoulder without any explanation."

"When you mentioned waiting for your leave to come through, I remembered that you had a girl in every port, and it occurred to me that I was now one of them. I'm not interested in being another notch in your belt, on your bunk post, another flag you can mount on your airplane. You want to have your cake and eat it, serve it up on picnic blankets." She'd been building up this head of steam for days.

"You were a more than willing participant on that blanket if I recall. And I hardly forced my way into your quarters to spend the night. Was I in a blackout drunk when we discussed being exclusive, because I don't remember that conversation, and you knew I was no boy scout," he said going on the defensive.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed as her face hardened and she fought to control her temper.

"It was stupid of me to get involved with you. When you get back, we'll just go back to being two people who each has a job to do on this island and keep it at that."

That's it?

That's it. We're through here. I'm sure you have packing to do," she said, icily.

"You're dismissing me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Parse it anyway you like, just close the door behind you."

He slammed it, causing Rose to look up from her charts as he steamed by her.

Jim stood up in a hurry, winced and shuffled after him. He looked at Rose and shook his head as he went by. It went about as he'd imagined it would.

"That went well," Mary Margaret said aloud, after Greg slammed her door, her hands shaking as she brought them to her face.

She suddenly felt very tired and very foolish.

A few minutes later Rose stuck her head in the door. "Everything ok in here?"

"No, I just made a complete ass of myself," Mary Margaret said, looking up at Rose. "I'm going to call it a day, and go home and get drunk," she said getting up from her desk.

Rose opened the door wider to let her pass.

"I'll come by later to check on you. We can talk about what jerks men are."

Mary Margaret, waved without turning back around and went out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Mary Margaret had drunk two thirds of a bottle of the white wine Greg had given her and that she'd chilled hoping they'd share some evening. She sat out in front of her quarters and listened to the sounds of the island, the wind in the palms, Jeep engines, men's and women's voices, laughter, and wondered what the Black Sheep were up to. Probably getting drunk like her but having more fun doing it.

She was happy to see Rose and Becky walk up. They brought some beer with them.

"Feeling any better?" Rose asked as she sat down.

"I'm hoping to not feel much of anything," said Mary Margaret emptying the bottle of wine into her glass and sitting back.

"Well, those boys are out of our hair for a few days. It'll do them good to blow off some steam," said Rose. "That was a nasty mission. They were crazy to even attempt it."

"They pulled it off though," said Mary Margaret.

"A couple of planes lost and almost one pilot," added Becky. "Bob felt really bad about Boyle. They're like Mutt and Jeff.

"Jim was beside himself about TJ when he was missing," said Rose. "Those guys really love each other."

Mary Margaret leaned her head back against the wall of her quarters, listening to the nurses talk about these men-children who risked their lives every day, who picked up and discarded women like beer cans. For most of them, their longest, most meaningful relationships were with their wingmen. Then there was Boyington. Before her mind could wander down that trail, Rose was asking her a question.

"I'm sorry, what?" Mary Margaret asked.

"What exactly happened today?" Rose repeated.

Mary Margaret looked at Rose, trying to decide how to characterize what had happened today.

"Mostly, I was mad at myself and took it out on him," she said finally.

"Oh, don't let him know you think that," said Becky.

Mary Margaret looked at Rose with a questioning look.

"I filled her in on what I knew, which is basically that you had a big blow up this morning before he left."

"Becky, I'm not interested in playing games," said Mary Margaret. "Truth is, I don't know what I want." She saw the dimples, the blue eyes, imagined his solid, warm body against hers. She breathed in. Exhaled trying to clear her mind of such thoughts.

"Well, let it go. They're gone for a few days. See how you feel when he gets back," offered Rose.

"I told him when he gets back that we'll go back to living parallel lives," said Mary Margaret.

"What about you two. Do you know what Gutterman and Anderson do on leave?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Oh, Bob and I haven't gotten anywhere near that stage where I can claim to care what he does," said Becky. "This is still cat and mouse stuff with us."

"The first time Jim went on leave after he started showing interest in me, I'm sure he forgot all about me and did whatever he had occasion to do. I don't know and don't want to know.

"And now? Mary Margaret asked.

"I don't know for certain, but we've come to mean something to each other. But I don't ask what he does on leave. TJ tells me I have nothing to worry about," said Rose. She didn't seem upset or like she felt she'd been made a fool of.

Mary Margaret was leaning forward with her chin propped on her hand. "I just royally screwed everything up. Went about it all wrong. Practically threw myself at him, then got mad at him for it."

"He pursued you too, Em. I wouldn't be so hard on yourself, and let's face it, that man could melt butter with a look," said Becky.

"You're both to blame," said Melinda walking up and putting a bottle of scotch on the table.

Mary Margaret looked up at her. "Where'd you get the scotch?" she asked.

"Gift," was all Melinda offered.

Mary Margaret noted it wasn't the brand the Black Sheep drank.

"From Mr. Mystery?" she asked.

Melinda gave her a closed mouth smirk.

"I've got an idea," she said, as Mary Margaret got glasses for the scotch.

Greg was sulking when the Black Sheep took off for Espritos. The mood among his men was festive. Word came in that Boyle was recovering well. TJ had made it back. Jim sat next to him on a pillow. They'd survived that mission. And now they were going to celebrate. They were going to eat, drink, chase skirts, try to stay off Colonel Lard's radar and out of the brig.

Greg replayed the loud, angry exchange in the Maggie's office in his mind. Jim had warned him that she wouldn't tolerate being another of the women in his rotation. He hadn't been thinking about anything other than the present situation on La Cava which was greatly improved in her company, in her bed. She didn't cause him any trouble, didn't moon around waiting for him to show up, and from what he could tell, enjoyed sex as much as he did. So what the hell happened. He should have seen it coming, but he was too wrapped up in the mission and then in his injured and missing pilots.

He didn't know what he was going to do about it. He took a pull from the bottle of scotch Jim extended toward him. He thought about Janet, who may or may not be waiting for him on Espritos. He didn't see her every time he went there. He respected that sometimes she had other plans. If she was busy, he'd spend his time with someone else if the opportunity presented itself (and it usually did, or he created it) or he'd simply enjoy the downtime. Janet wasn't territorial, didn't make any demands on him. They just enjoyed each other when they were together and went about their lives when they weren't.

His mind drifted from Janet to the Commander. She had become a part of his life on La Cava. He hadn't really noted it, just accepted it. He wasn't prone to rumination. He didn't have the time or the inclination generally. But the flight and the scotch afforded him some rare reflection.

She accepted the intertwining of the lives of the nurses and pilots and didn't get moralistic about it or fret over it. As long as her nurses did their jobs, and weren't being coerced, she stayed out their business. As long as the men didn't push her too far, she accepted their shenanigans with tolerance, even good humor, and they seemed to respect her for it. He himself knew it was hard to walk the line between authority and genuine regard and love for his subordinates. She pulled it off. He didn't know her whole story, but she had grit; she had backbone, but she could still bend. And to him, she was beautiful. He found himself thinking about THAT more than he liked to admit. Most men wouldn't like her drive, her ambition, but they were what made her vibrate with energy and life. The man who'd let her walk off that hospital ship was a fool. Now, he himself was on a plane headed away from her. What did that make him?

The scotch spread through him dulling the events of earlier in the day, but he felt a headache coming on and his joints were aching too. He cursed the nearly 15 years he had on his men.

Greg sat at a table in the officer's club, a bottle of scotch and a glass full of ice in front of him and a fresh cigar clamped between his teeth. Music was playing. Around him, people were talking and laughing. Three days of leave stretched out before him.

Janet walked up to his table, dressed in her snug nurse's uniform, her brunette hair pulled up under her cap. She smiled at him and sat down. Rita came across the room from the other direction. Curvaceous and blonde, she was dressed in a low-cut clingy dress and high heels that accentuated and elongated her shapely legs. She too sat down at his table. Then Mary Margaret walked in from still another direction, dressed in a sun dress. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves. When she sat down, he looked from one to the other. They each smiled back at him.

"We've been talking, Greg, and I think we've come up with a solution that works for everybody," said Mary Margaret looking at Janet then at Rita. The others nodded. "I'll continue to be your "on leave girl" here on Espritos," said Janet.

"I'm going to be transferring closer, so we can see more of each other," said Rita, leaning toward him, offering him a generous view of her cleavage and reaching for his hand. "In fact, Mary Margaret thinks she might have an opening at the hospital at Vella La Cava, isn't that wonderful?"

"We can set up a rotating schedule, like a duty roster once Rita's orders come through," suggested Mary Margaret, her green eyes on him. "I think that will work out just fine, Greg, don't you?"

Greg looked from one to the other. When he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out.

Mary Margaret stood up, put her hands on the table and leaned in very close to him. "Let me help you out, Major. That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works. You better make up your mind," she added, punctuating her words by poking him in the chest with her index finger. Then she backed up and left. Rita left in the direction she'd come.

Only Janet remained at the table. "You don't look so good," she said, putting a hand to his forehead.

The next morning, Mary Margaret opened her eyes and smelled coffee. There was a steaming cup on the bedside table and Melinda was zipping up Mary Margaret's duffel bag Mary Margaret sat up and sipped the coffee, the night before's plan slowly coming back to her.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"About 30 minutes. Thought you might need some help organizing. You had quite a bit to drink last night."

"Afraid I was going to back out?" she asked Melinda.

"Not afraid, but didn't want you to have an excuse."

"Why do you care about this, Melinda?"

"Because you two belong together, and you shouldn't let anything get in the way of that."

"Shouldn't we be the one's to decide that?"

"You're both too bull headed to know what's good for you."

Mary Margaret got up to get a couple of aspirin for the headache pounding behind her eyes. She had to put some milk in her coffee too. Her stomach wouldn't tolerate the black coffee. She'd drunk her dinner last night.

"Better try some toast," Melinda suggested.

"Look, I'll escort the patient to Espritos and get him signed in, but I can't promise I'll stick around after that. Greg might not want to see me. Or he might be . . . busy. And tell me this woman's name. I don't want to run into her and accidentally like her."

"Her name's Janet. There's nothing not to like, except that she and Greg occasionally sleep together."

Mary Margaret busied herself getting ready to take a shower so she wouldn't have to look up and let Melinda read her expression.

"Ok, you've done your good deed, now get out of here so I can get a shower."

"Be ready to meet the ambulance in half an hour. It'll take you and the patient to the airstrip for the plane to Espritos.

"Thanks, Mel. . . . think," said Mary Margaret as Melinda closed the door on her way out.

Her hand felt cool. When he opened his eyes, Janet was drawing her hand back from his forehead. "Well, look who's awake," she said smiling at him. His blue eyes widened; he looked a alarmed.

"Wha. . .," he started, but his mouth was dry, and his thoughts fuzzy. He realized he was in the hospital.

"You collapsed in the officer's club last night. You've been in and out for about 12 hours. You haven't been taking your malaria medicine have you?"

He shook his head. "Have I . . . Have I had any visitors?" he asked.

"Just your men. Were you expecting someone else?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Did we have plans last night?" he asked, his memory of the previous evening nearly nonexistent.

"No. I didn't know you were on Espritos until I came on duty this morning."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he wasn't altogether sure why. "Hand me my pants, please, would you Janet?" he asked. He wanted to get out of there.

"I don't think that's a good idea, honey. You're gonna be dehydrated and weak. You really should rest."

"If you won't hand them to me, at least don't try to stop me," he said sitting up. He closed his eyes as the room spun. He put a hand to his head.

"Suit yourself," she said, standing aside.

He staggered to the chair where his pants were draped, putting one hand on the wall for balance.

She watched him wondering what form of masculine foolishness this was.

He had to sit in the chair to get his pants on, or he surely would have fallen. He pulled his shirt on and stuffed his feet in his boots, then staggered out the door, shirt unbuttoned and untucked.

She shook her head. Good thing they hadn't had plans; he was clearly in no condition for their usual recreational activities. Besides, she'd been keeping company lately with a doctor who was temporarily assigned to the hospital.

He'd managed to get back to his room and collapse on the bed. Janet was right. He was weak and thirsty and his head was pounding.

When he awoke a few hours later, Gutterman was knocking on his door.

"Come in!" Greg shouted.

Gutterman opened the door and looked at it, surprised to find it unlocked. "Janet sent your malaria medicine over and told me to make sure you are drinking plenty of fluids. She said you were acting pretty strange, wondering who had come to see you."

Greg tested out his legs, then walked over to the wash stand and poured himself a glass of water. Taking the medicine from Jim, he swallowed some pills and poured himself another glass of water. "I must have been delirious," he said shaking his head slightly.

Jim laughed out loud when Greg finished telling him about his dream or whatever it was his fevered brain had produced. "You are in serious trouble partner," said Jim.

Greg started to speak when the door opened and the Black Sheep streamed into the room. Casey came and stood by Jim. Anderson plopped onto the bed next to Greg. French and Bragg sat on opposite sides of the bed. TJ swung in on crutches and sat in a chair by the door. All of them were talking at once, asking after Greg's health, those closest clapping him on the shoulder, ruffling his hair.

"Too bad you had to be sick, like this Pappy," said Jerry. "You want us to send the Commander a message to come take care of you?"

"Why isn't Janet over here?" asked Anderson. Jim was making a slicing motion across his throat trying to shut them up, but enjoying himself.

"I can take care of myself," growled Greg. He was considering giving up nurses. "Alright you meatheads. Thanks for the visit. But get out of here and let me get some rest." Greg pushed Anderson off the bed, pulled the covers up and lay back down.

"She's right you know," said Jim, when they'd gone.

"Who's right?" asked Greg.

"The Commander," said Jim.

"You get out of here too. You're the last person I want advice about women from," growled Greg burying his head in the pillow.

"Hey! Rosey and I got a good thing going," protested Jim.

"Out!" barked Greg.

Mary Margaret got her patient turned over to the hospital then asked the duty nurse where she could find Brenda, the nurse Melinda told her would find her a bed for a night. But Mary Margaret was told that Brenda wasn't due to come in for an hour and to check back then.

Mary Margaret was headed to the officers' mess to get a cup of coffee when she ran into Larry Casey. He looked shocked to see her.

"Commander! What are you doing here?"

"I came to turn a patient over to the hospital. Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Uh, I, well, who. . . . "

"Lt. Casey, why don't you stop sputtering and tell me what's on your mind."

"Well, ma'am it's just that Pappy's been sick, and we were just over to see him, and Bragg asked him if he wanted us to get a message to you, and . . . ."

"Wait, what? What's wrong with Greg?"

"Malaria, ma'am, like a, what do you call it? Relapse?" Casey said, still searching for the right word.

"Recrudescence, maybe? At any rate, where is he? I just left the hospital," she said turning back toward the direction she'd come from.

"No m'am, he's in his room. He left the hospital ward this morning. He was bad off last night. Collapsed in the Officer's Club. We had to carry him to the hospital."

"Too much booze, stress and not taking his meds is my guess. Will you show me where he's staying?" she asked.

Greg had a crazy sense of de ja vu when he saw her, the dream or delirium coming back to him.

"What are you doing here Maggie?" he asked when he opened the door in a t'shirt and shorts.

He looked wrung out. He had circles under his eyes and was pale and drawn. His hair was tousled from being in bed for hours and he was in desperate need of shave.

"God! You look awful!"

"Thanks," he muttered getting himself another glass of water. "So what are you doing here?" he asked again. "Here to give me another piece of your mind?"

Mary Margaret thought about telling him that Melinda made her come, but she wanted to rescue what dignity she could, so she decided to go with the truth.

She told him about the official reason for being there, then the real reason: "And I thought I owed you an apology for the other day. I acted like an idiot. You didn't do anything to provoke that."

He sat back down on the bed and drank about half of the glass of water before responding. "Maggie, I like to keep things simple with women. I never know if I'm coming back when I take off, and the rest of the time, I'm trying to keep myself and those hooligans out of the brig and out of court martial, but I knew things couldn't be simple with you, and I pursued it anyway. We're both to blame. And I said some things I shouldn't have. I wouldn't have liked the conversation, but you should have said something to me the other night before everything could blow up like it did.

She leaned back against the desk by the bed. "The last thing you needed from me when you were waiting for news about TJ was to deal with my insecurities about what you'd be doing on leave. I had no right to even think like that."

You have a right to think anything, to feel anything you do, Maggie.

They looked into each others eyes. The question: What now? Hung in the air between them. Mary Margaret broke eye contact first, looking at her watch.

"I've got to go find this person named Brenda, to see about accommodations for the night."

"You could stay here," he offered, sweeping his arm to display his cramped quarters, the rumpled bed, the clothes strewn furniture.

"I don't think so," she laughed. "I'm going to go find Brenda, find my lodgings and get unpacked, maybe take a swim."

"I've got to take a shower and get a shave," His hand running over his cheek made a rasping noise.

"Good idea," she said, turning to go.

"Let me take you to dinner," he said.

She turned back. "I'd like that."

"Meet me at the Officer's Club at 6. And Maggie . . . ." he paused.

"Yes?" She waited.

"I'm glad you came."

She gave him a tentative smile. "See you at 6:00," she said, and left to go find Brenda.


	11. Chapter 11

Brenda had found Mary Margaret a small room on the same wing with some of the nurses from the hospital. At least she had it to herself. It had a wash basin, and there was a communal bathroom in the hall. She didn't know how long she'd be staying. It depended on how things went tonight with Greg. But she could definitely use the R&R.

She unpacked the duffel Melinda had packed for her and found a dress that she knew wasn't hers. She held it up and smiled shaking her head at Melinda's meddling. She also found a pair of shoes to go with it. What if he hadn't asked her to dinner? Well, maybe someone else would've. She snorted at herself; like she was going to get involved with yet another man. Her track record so far hadn't been so good.

She put the dress on a hanger in the little locker against the wall and put her duffle on the floor beside it. No reason to unpack and settle in, she thought. Most of her hangover had burned up with her nerves and in anticipation of talking with Greg, but she was tired. A nap seemed like a better idea than a swim or a walk on the beach. She stripped out of her uniform and donned a tank and loose fitting shorts and sprawled on top of the bed, spread eagle. It felt good to have nowhere she had to be, no one she had to oversee and no commitments to keep, except dinner if she still decided she wanted to go. She drifted off feeling tremendous relief.

Mary Margaret woke up a couple hours later. At first she was disoriented and had forgotten where she was. Then it came back. She looked at her watch. She still had about an hour to get ready to meet Greg at the officer's club.

The Black Sheep were on their second round of drinks, and Greg was nursing a beer when Mary Margaret walked into the officer's club in her borrowed dress and shoes. But they fit her like they were made for her. The dress was a deep shade of blue, sleeveless, swaths of fabric crisscrossed across her breasts with a fitted bodice and a graceful skirt. The dress enhanced her bust without revealing too much cleavage and showed her toned arms and narrow waist to perfect effect. The Black Sheep looked then stared and began good naturedly whistling and hooting, causing a commotion in their corner of the room. Greg turned his head and took in her appearance, a smile spreading across his face as he got up to rescue her from his men and guide her to a table far enough away to be out of earshot of his squadron.

"That dress is beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," she said, not telling him she hadn't seen it herself until a few hours ago.

He ordered another beer, and she ordered a martini straight up with olives.

"Their steaks are really good," offered Greg.

"It's been ages since I've had a decent steak," said Mary Margaret. She felt like she was dreaming, sitting here in a beautiful dress, across from a gorgeous man, drinking something besides cheap bourbon or black market wine and soon eating steak.

When their food arrived, they dove in. They talked animatedly about restaurants and bars they frequented in the states. What they liked to eat. Who made the best drinks. Their favorite bartenders. How much they missed good food, all the while devouring every scrap of steak, every bit of potato, every green thing on the plate. Greg was nursing his second beer. Mary Margaret had had two martinis and was on a glass of red wine.

"So far, you've spent most of your leave unconscious," Mary Margaret said as the dinner dishes were cleared away.

"Not my idea, as much as I probably needed the rest."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to say something else, when her eye caught a familiar face moving toward her from across the room. She froze, and her stomach knotted.

"Maggie?" Greg started when he saw the look on her face.

"Oh dear God, what is he doing here?" she said.

Greg was about to ask who she was talking about when a tall, blond man approached the table with an attractive brunette. The man he didn't recognize. The brunette he knew . . . he might say intimately. Janet. Greg had his own moment of dread, but he assumed his best poker face and decided to deal with this head on.

"Mary Margaret?" the blond man started, but didn't finish.

"Richard?! What are you doing here?

"You look much better than the last time I saw you, Greg," said the attractive brunette with Richard.

"Hi Janet," he said, and Mary Margaret experienced another jolt as her eyes snapped to the brunette. This evening was taking a nosedive in a hurry.

Richard extended his hand to Greg. "Richard Callaway."

Greg shook his hand. "Greg Boyington." Soft hand. Greg was seized with an urge to crush it, to feel the satisfying crunch of bones in his grip, but restrained himself.

"Janet McInnis," said Janet shaking Mary Margaret's hand.

"Boyington" said Richard. "I've heard about you and your squadron." How do you two know each other," he asked Mary Margaret.

"We're both stationed on Vella la Cava," she said. She really wanted to get out of here.

"How do you and Maggie know each other Richard?" Greg asked thinking he'd already figured it out by the way Maggie was acting. She'd gone stone still, and she looked like she'd either kill Richard or Janet.

"We were on the USS Comfort together." He paused, then added, "and we were engaged," said Richard. Greg thought he saw a momentary flicker of anger behind Richard's blue eyes.

"I see," was all Greg said. He didn't know that little nugget, only that she'd left someone on a hospital ship, that things hadn't worked out, and she'd needed to get away. He saw her looking at him, trying to read his reaction.

"Imagine, a farm girl from Georgia," said Richard with an edge to his voice. "She leaves me and a future as a surgeon's wife in Atlanta for a ridiculous dream to become a doctor. Will never happen."

Greg could see now the anger was no longer masked. And he suspected that Richard was on his way to being drunk, an ugly drunk.

Greg stood up now. Richard was considerably taller but Mary Margaret knew Greg could pound him into the ground like a tent stake, and he looked like he wanted to.

"Janet, I think you'd better take your friend to get some air or put some food in his belly before he goes asking for a fight he can't win," said Greg low and calm, but his eyes were intense, his jaw set.

Janet had been around Greg and the Black Sheep enough to know that they could tear a room apart and cause someone a great deal of pain. "Come on, Richard, let's get some dinner," she said, trying to coax Richard out of harm's way.

But Richard couldn't let it go. He turned to Greg and said, "Don't waste your time, Major. She's a shitty lay."

Greg wouldn't dignify that with a response, but he didn't have to.

This time Mary Margaret stood up.

Across the room, the Black Sheep had sensed a change in the atmosphere. They knew when either Greg or the Commander had been pushed too far and someone was going to have to pay. They could read the body language from across the room.

Mary Margaret looked up at Richard. He looked down at her. It looked as though she were going to poke him in the chest and give him a tongue lashing but instead, she jammed her index finger into the soft spot in his throat and applied pressure. Richard gagged, a look of shock spreading over his face. Greg looked on remembering a similar scene a couple of months ago when he'd first met her, and she'd taken down his first officer. Richard was still gagging, only now his face was turning red, his eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and he'd sunk to his knees. Mary Margaret released the pressure, and Richard doubled over gasping and coughing. Mary Margaret leaned over and said quietly to Richard, "I didn't like sex with you Richard because you're a selfish prick."

She straightened up and met Greg's eyes. "You ready to go?" he asked. "Yes, I think so," she said, stepping around Richard. Greg came around the other side and took her arm.

"Enjoy your evening," she said to Janet who was now helping Richard up.

Mary Margaret looked over toward the Black Sheep. Gutterman raised his glass to her in a silent toast. She almost grinned to herself, but she was still angry about the exchange with Richard.

They walked in the direction of Greg's quarters, each absorbed in their own thoughts until Greg broke the silence: "So that's the guy from the hospital ship?"

"Yes."

"And you were in love with him?"

"I thought I was. I think I was in love with the idea of what we could be together."

After what he'd just witnessed, he wasn't sure what that was. "What do you mean?"

"I made it plain to him who I was. Why I became a nurse, and that when I got home I fully intended to go to medical school, not settle down and start a family. At first he talked like we could do that together."

She paused. And Boyington watched her but said nothing.

"Then he started backpedalling. Wanted to get married right away and send me home ahead of him to his family. It was like he'd never heard a word I said. Why are we talking about this."

"Because you've never told me this, and for God's sake the man is here," Greg said, exasperated.

She looked at him. "Are you jealous?"

He twisted his mouth. "I'm not jealous! The guy's pompous ass."

Mary Margaret laughed out loud. "He really is!" She laughed again.

He liked the sound of her laugh and the way it lit up her face.

"I'm sorry. It's been a strange night. You must be exhausted."

"I wish I could say I wasn't, but I am." He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. She didn't resist and put her arm around him. When they walked up onto the porch of his building, he all but fell onto the bench outside.

She sat next to him, then asked him, "Have you ever been in love?" She had no illusions that he would confess his love for her. She just genuinely wanted to know.

"Maybe a couple of times. The first time, I was young and scared. I asked a girl to marry me, gave her a ring and everything. I was in China and wasn't used to getting shot at, and she thought it was romantic, I guess, being in love with a fighter pilot. But she got scared too and took off, ring and everything. I never saw her again."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. She was smart. It would have been a mistake. The second time was not too long ago, with a nurse who was stationed on La Cava. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. I fell hard."

"Well, you just don't know when something like that will happen."

"No. You don't."

"What happened to her?"

"Her husband was missing in action, and then he wasn't, or that's what the reports said. She left to find out."

"I'm sorry again."

"She made her choice. She chose to go to him. Since she didn't come back, I guess she found him."

"Is that why you don't get involved?"

"Seems easier that way."

She looked into those blue eyes. He looked done for the night. "I'm going to go. You need your rest."

He stopped her from standing up, leaned over and kissed her, gently, but lingered, promising more if she wanted. She kissed him in return, then reluctantly pulled back. Good night," she said, getting up.

He watched her go, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands behind his head. If he didn't get up now, he'd fall asleep where he was. He was secretly glad she decided to go back to her lodgings. He should have walked her back, but he couldn't move.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, when Mary Margaret got to morning mess, not a single Black Sheep had made an appearance yet. She got her tray and coffee and sat at an empty table. She was joined moments later by Brenda, the nurse who'd gotten her a bed to sleep in.

"How's the room working out for you?" Brenda asked.

"It's great. I appreciate your help, Brenda," said Mary Margaret. She'd immediately liked Brenda who seemed like a straight shooter.

As they ate in companionable silence, some of the Black Sheep shuffled in in various states of hangover and dishevelment. Greg followed them in looking rested.

"Here comes trouble," said Brenda, nodding toward the guys.

"You've got that right," agreed Mary Margaret.

"Some of them are cute, and that Major is a handsome devil. Little old for my taste, though," offered Brenda. "One of our nurses has been known to . . . .well, she has spent some time with him when he's here."

"Lt. McGinnis. I met her last night."

"Course, now she's seeing this new surgeon we have."

"That would be Dr. Calloway," supplied Mary Margaret, losing her appetite as last night rose in her mind. "We've met," she said acidly.

Mary Margaret looked across the mess at the Black Sheep. Greg was facing her but talking to his men and eating.

Then he caught a glimpse of her across the room and raised his coffee cup to her in greeting.

Brenda caught the gesture. "You're on Vella La Cava. Are you and the Major, ah, you know . . . . "

"We were. We aren't now. But I didn't come here just to deliver a patient," she said smiling at Greg.

"He's got a reputation as a real ladies' man," warned Brenda.

"I'm painfully aware of that," said Mary Margaret.

As if on cue, Greg rose from the table and headed across the room to their table.

"Here comes Major Dimples now," joked Brenda.

Mary Margaret almost choked on her coffee.

"Good Morning ladies," said Greg as he sat down across from them.

"Hi Major. Margaret, I'll catch you later. I've got to start my shift," said Brenda excusing herself.

"You look more like yourself today," said Mary Margaret.

"I feel a lot better. What are your plans today?" he asked, finishing off his coffee and setting the cup down. "You sticking around?"

"I haven't really thought about it, but I'm not ready to go back to work. I'm enjoying the break, last night's interruption notwithstanding," she said making a face.

"Have you seen Dick this morning?" Greg asked, with emphasis on his nickname for Richard.

"He hates being called Dick," she said laughing, "but it suits him. No I haven't seen him. I hope he's working, and I won't have the pleasure." She purposely didn't mention Janet.

He reached across the table and lightly touched her hand resting on her coffee cup. "I'm sorry I didn't walk you back last night. I should have."

The touch of his fingers sent a little thrill through her. "I'll excuse you this time. But you only get away with it this once."

"Understood. Listen, I've got some things I've got to do with the guys, but I'd like to show you something after lunch. Will you still be around?"

She gave it some thought, then nodded. "I'll be around," she said. "What are you guys up to, or is it best I don't know?"

"Putting some finishing touches on a trade deal that's been in the works for a while. Shouldn't take too long. And we've got a big poker game tonight, but that leaves the whole day free after lunch," he offered. "Most of these knuckleheads are gonna need naps," he said throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

She moved her hand from her cup to run her fingers over his palm and touched her fingertips to his, enjoying the contact. They sat there for a bit. It was nice not having everything they did scrutinized and commented on by his men, although a few of them were observing from across the room.

"I'll walk you out," he said a few minutes later as she got up to dispose of her tray.

Richard watched them from his office window. Saw Boyington touch the back of her neck as they walked the path to the nurses' quarters Watched him put his hands on her arms and pull her toward him. But they were interrupted as someone called out to Boyington. Richard watched as Boyington said something to Mary Margaret. She nodded and laughed, and he let her go then turned and walked back to the mess. No, strutted. He bet the bastard always strutted. Richard saw Mary Margaret watch Boyington go then head inside the nurses' building.

Richard was grinding his teeth as he turned from the window and back to his desk. "What does she see in that degenerate?" he asked his empty office. He put his hands on his desk blotter and pushed himself up intending to go talk to his former fiancé.

Casey and Anderson stood in the airplane hanger in front of their pallets of wooden crates and cardboard boxes. TJ was sitting on another crate with his crutches lying nearby. He was checking off items on the inventory list as Anderson called them out with their quantities.

The supply sergeant from Espritos walked in, and announced that they were going to have to go back to the negotiating table.

"We had a deal," cried Casey, outraged.

"We got a better deal, Lieutenant. Happens all the time. It's the cost of doing business. We don't need your scotch now or your French soaps. You'll have to find something else to sweeten the pot if you want those airplane parts and the engine oil. We'll still take cigarettes, the pinup calendars, the nudie films, and the stockings.

"Sergeant, would you mind providing a few suggestions as to what you would take in trade?" asked Anderson. "And how do you propose we procure said items short of stealing them from you?"

TJ was looking on and trying to figure out a way to make this Sergeant pay for pulling the rug out from under them.

Boyington arrived and heard what was going on. His voice boomed across the hanger as he told the Sergeant "We'll play you for it. Poker. Tonight. Winner take all. We win, we get the airplane parts, the motor oil, and our stuff goes back with us to trade another day. You win, you can keep all this" he said gesturing to the crates and boxes, "and we leave without our parts and oil."

The sergeant thought about this for a minute. "Ok, Major, you're on." And they shook on it.

"How do we know he's not going to change his mind again?" asked Casey, his sense of honor and fair play still deeply offended.

"We'll settle it with our fists if it comes to that," said Greg, looking at the Sergeant and making sure his point was taken.

"Bring your best players, Major," said the Sergeant heading for the exit.

Mary Margaret went back to her room to grab a book and head to the beach to read before she had to meet Greg after lunch. When she opened her door to leave, she found Richard standing there about to knock.

"Richard?! What are you doing here?" she said surprised and bracing herself.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" he asked, looking uncomfortable to be standing out in the hall where the nurses could see him.

Mary Margaret sure as hell wasn't going to invite him in. "I was headed to the beach, you can walk with me," she said, closing and locking her door.

It was a bright, sunny day. Most of the buildings on this rear area base were painted white and stood out in bright contrast to the blue sky and green palms, grass, and the tropical flowers that had been cultivated in beds. On their way to the beach, they came to a parklike area with benches. Mary Margaret figured it was as good a place as any as long as they could talk in relative privacy.

"Why don't we stop here, Richard, and you can tell me what's on your mind."

"I intend to file a report about what happened last night in the Officer's Club," he announced.

"I see," said Mary Margaret. She didn't think he'd report it, since he'd been bested by a woman.

"You can't go around assaulting superior officers and expect to get away with it."

"Richard, I took matters into my own hands, as it were, because otherwise, you'd have had a whole squadron of pilots and one very angry CO on your case."

"Boyington, you mean."

"He was standing right there when you were anything but an officer and a gentleman, Richard."

"Do you have any idea what that man's service record looks like?"

"I know he commands one of the best squadrons in these skies."

"He's a thief, a drunkard, and a womanizer, Mary Margaret. You'd do best to stay away from him."

"Richard, what I do is simply no longer your business."

"I just hate to see you make a terrible mistake. I know how much your career means to you."

"Since when have you cared about my career, Richard. The biggest reason I left you is that you wanted me to throw away my career to be a part of your life."

"The man stays in trouble. Do you know how many times he's been brought up on charges? The only reason he's escaped court marshal is because of his flying record. Why would you be involved with someone like him?"

I think your ego's just hurt Richard. You can't conceive that any woman would leave Dr. Richard Callaway, III, son of the great Dr. Richard Callaway, Jr. of Atlanta. Well, I did Richard. Because you didn't listen to me. You didn't care what I told you about who I am."

"And he cares who you are? You're fooling yourself, Mary Margaret."

"I'm not going to discuss Greg with you. It's simply none of your business. I'm no longer any of your business."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"Again, none of your business."

"You aren't denying it."

"I don't have to confirm or deny anything, Richard. That's what you aren't getting here. You aren't hearing me as usual!" She was getting angry now. She could feel her blood pressure rising.

"Well, I can't let being assaulted pass. You never would have done something like this before. I'm headed to file a report with Colonel Lard when we're finished here."

"We're finished here," said Mary Margaret, and she got up to leave. Richard grabbed her harm, sinking his fingers into flesh.

"Let go of me Richard," Mary Margaret, alarmed. He wasn't usually physically confrontational.

He grabbed her other arm. She wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he was holding on tight, his fingers digging into her arms. Then over Richard's shoulder, she saw T.J. He'd removed the rubber tap from one of his crutches and was pressing the end of the crutch into Richard's ribs. "Let the lady go, Mac, and you won't get hurt."

She tried not to laugh at TJ's attempt to be a tough guy. Only Brooklyn accent gave him any credibiity.

A look of shock and disbelief crossed Richard's face, and he released Mary Margaret. Then before Richard could turn around, TJ cracked the crutch across the back of Richard's head, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Lt. Wiley! What'd you go and do that for? I could've handled this," she said rubbing her arms where Richard had gripped them.

"Sorry Ma'm," said T.J. shrugging. He'd been itching for a fight since the encounter with the supply sergeant. "Guess I just didn't like the way he was treating you."

"Well, at least his back was to you, and he wouldn't know your voice. That'll be one less charge he can file. T.J. I'm going to see he gets medical attention. You'd better take off."

"Oh! M'am. Pappy sent me to tell you he's tied up. He's real sorry, but to meet him at evening mess. He also said that you'd better pack up your stuff and be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"What? Why? And what am I going to do, lug my gear around all day?"

"No. Take it over to Pappy's room and leave it outside. One of us will get it and put it with the rest of our stuff. It's a precaution."

"What's going on TJ? What are you guys up to?"

"Pappy said he'll explain when he sees you. Get the Captain his medical help, drop your stuff off, and Pappy will find you."

"Ok, T.J., now get lost before he comes around and can identify you."

"Right. See you Commander," said T.J. as he swung off on his crutches.

"Black Sheep," she muttered, shaking her head. She knelt by Richard, felt his pulse, checked his pupils. She waved over a passing marine and asked him to get someone from the hospital to come get the injured doctor.


	13. Chapter 13

Mary Margaret approached Greg's room and slung her duffel off her shoulder and onto the porch. She sat for a moment on the bench outside his door. Her mind ran over the last 48 hours. What had she hoped to accomplish by coming here? She and Greg had smoothed things over and seemed to be on a new footing. It was hard to know in a setting like this. But they sure hadn't had much time alone together.

The afternoon loomed ahead of her. But she figured she'd go ahead with her plan to go to the beach for a while and read. She couldn't wait to see what the Black Sheep had cooked up later on, but first she'd get some sun and relaxation in.

Mary Margaret found herself a spot on the beach, propped herself up against a palm tree and started reading her romance novel. For an hour or so, she escaped into another time and place, even though where she was right now, was quite pleasant. The breeze in her hair and the sound of the crashing waves made it easy to forget for a while that she was in the middle of a war.

She didn't think about it a lot. Tried not to brood on what she saw and heard about daily at the hospital and in the Sheep Pen, and she certainly didn't like to think about the short life expectancy of the fighter pilots who had become such a big part of her life in such a short time, one in particular. She looked out at the waves, the sun dappling the water and sighed. She didn't like the turn her thoughts had taken, so she got up and started gathering her stuff. Maybe it was better to be too busy to think.

She decided she'd go check on Richard and see if he was at work or had been treated and sent to rest. On the way she'd try to think up a story as to what had happened and who had struck him from behind. As she walked up the steps to the hospital, Greg was coming out. He stopped on the top step when he saw her.

"Hi, sorry about our plans," he said hoping to steer her away from the hospital. He went to put his hand on her arm and saw the bruises left from Richard's fingers earlier. He took her hand in his and ran his other hand over the purple and blue spots on her upper arm. "Are you ok?" he asked. He was angry now, and thought maybe the plan he had just put in motion regarding Richard went too easy on him.

Mary Margaret followed his eyes and her hand went to the bruises. "Yes. I'm fine. He's never been physical like that. I guess T.J. told you?" Her eyes met his in question.

He nodded. "Yeah. And I don't like the look of that," he said gesturing at her arm. "I still may make him pay for it." But right now wanted to get her out of there. "Let's go get a drink. I want to fill you in on this evening."

"I was just going to see Richard and see how he was doing," she said looking over her shoulder as Greg was leading her down the stairs away from the hospital. "And what are you doing here anyway?" she asked.

"I'll explain in a bit." But he stopped at the bottom stair and turned to her. She was still one step above him. "Forget about him," he growled, almost through his teeth. "You don't owe him anything."

She looked down at him, then stepped down to the final step so that she was eye to eye with him. "I'm still medical personnel, Greg. He was hurt because of me. I feel it's my duty to check on him."

"I need you to trust me about this. I want you to stay away from the hospital. Captain Dickhead back there is fine, better than he deserves."

Mary Margaret continued to look at Greg, trying to read his expression. He was definitely trying to keep her moving away from the hospital, and he was trying to keep his anger in check. She decided this was not the time to argue with him. "Ok, I trust you."

Greg's face relaxed. "Good. Let's go. I've got some scotch and some things to discuss with you."

She couldn't wait to hear this.

Greg hadn't packed up his stuff yet. When they got back to his room, he began gathering clothes and toiletries and stuffing them into his bag. He uncovered a chair for her to sit in. He grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses and poured them each two fingers.

"Well, what's all the mystery about and the bums rush out of my quarters?" she asked him after a swallow of scotch. She rested her head on the wall behind her as the scotch flowed through her system.

"We had a little hitch in our plans. We had a trade all worked out with the supply sergeant here on Espritos, but at the last minute he changed his terms. We can't exactly get on the horn and start making new deals, so we're going to play poker for the items we came to trade for."

"How did this end up taking up your whole day, and what were you going to show me?" she asked, not seeing where this was going.

"Arrangements had to be made, things put into place, that kind of thing," he said, keeping things vague. He tossed back the rest of his scotch, poured himself another and offered to top her off.

"Am I playing in this poker game?" she asked.

"Not to win," he said.

"Then I'll have another, she said extending her glass."

"You'll still need to keep your wits about you though, so we'll get something to eat in a bit," he said, splashing some liquor in her glass.

After he explained to her what he had in mind, she stared at him. She'd sat up and now was leaning forward her elbows on her knees. "I think you're crazy," she said.

He shrugged. "Let's go get some dinner."

The Black Sheep were in good spirits at evening mess. Many were sunburned from spending the day outdoors, either at the beach or enacting their assignment in Greg's plan. They'd had naps and were alert and refreshed and ready for the night's activities.

"Sarge said to bring our best players, so I think that's me, Jim, Anderson and the Commander," said Greg.

"But we aren't going to play to win?" asked Mary Margaret.

"I just meant it wasn't necessary, but if you must . . . ." said Greg.

"Everything else is ready Pappy," said Jerry.

"We should have everything loaded and be ready to roll by 0800," said French.

"Ok, you meatheads, go get ready to be at battlestations at 07:30, said Greg.

"Pappy did you tell the Commander that you took care of the Captain for her?" asked Anderson.

Mary Margaret looked at Anderson, then at Greg. "What is he talking about?" She remembered his barely concealed attempts to get her away from the hospital.

"Anderson should mind his own business. Commander, come with me," he said standing.

"I want to know what he's talking about," said Mary Margaret. And where are we going?" she asked as they left the mess.

"I figured you'd want to shower and change before we go," said Greg.

"I don't have my stuff. I left it on your porch a couple hours ago."

"I've got it. We'll make sure our stuff gets where it needs to go once we're ready." He pulled her duffel out of a closet in his room once they got back there. "Wear your field uniform and grab your hat, but drape the jacket over the back of your chair so no one can see the front of it," he said as he handed her the olive drab pants and jacket she routinely wore, only now a set of sergeant's stripes had been sown on her jacket.

"You went through my bag?" she asked, her voice rising.

He shrugged. "When were you planning to wear the little black lace number in there?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

A look of horror came across her face "Give me that!" she snapped as she grabbed the duffel from him. "You shouldn't be going through my stuff." She was going to kill Melinda!

"I wanted to make sure you had your fatigues. If you didn't we would have gotten some for you. You haven't answered my question."

"Look, I didn't even pack that, ok? That was Melinda being cute."

"Or optimistic" he suggested, raising his eyebrows, enjoying her discomfort.

"Shut up! Just tell me where the shower is, then you can tell me why I've been demoted and transferred to another branch of the military."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Greg escorted Mary Margaret to the showers and stood watch, so that no one would walk in on her. A woman really shouldn't be in this building. The military could be so prudish, Greg thought. He tried to keep his mind off her naked body in the shower by going back over in his mind all that he'd set into motion today.

Luckily, he'd intercepted Maggie before she could get into the hospital and find out that her ex was in the psych ward. Greg had had a pow wow with the hospital admin, whom he knew and got on well with. He'd helped out the hospital with supplies in the past after they'd treated his men. He'd convinced her that Little Ricky needed some pharmaceutical R&R for "battle fatigue." Ricky was coming unglued, being aggressive and combative. It hadn't been hard to convince her. She wasn't a fan. Richard hadn't been overtly aggressive with her, but she was a solid, no nonsense, hard working woman, and the doctor just had his nose in the air ever since he'd gotten there. She'd convince one of the other docs to write up the orders for the bed and meds. She told Greg she'd take care of that. Greg had then gone and talked to Janet. All that was left was the poker game and to get off the island in one piece.

Maggie came out of the shower, dressed in her olive drab field pants and a t'shirt, her head wrapped in a towel. He escorted her back to his room and went to get his own shower.

Maggie was toweling off her hair and repacking her duffel when Greg came back from the shower with just his towel wrapped around his waist. She looked up and for a moment openly admired what she saw: his wet hair, water beaded chest, his flat muscular belly and strong, toned legs separated only by a small white towel. He saw her looking at him, found and held her eyes, mentally calculating. They didn't have time to start anything, let alone finish it, and he wasn't inclined to rush. He also didn't exactly know where things stood with them in that regard.

Breaking eye contact, he turned to the wash basin to start shaving. Mary Margaret, sensing the moment had passed, turned her concentration to lacing up her boots.

Jim and Casey walked into the room unannounced and looked at Greg and Mary Margaret, both freshly showered, she now lacing up her other boot, Greg shaving in just a towel and jumped to conclusions. "Whoa! Guess we should have knocked. Sorry about that y'all," drawled Jim with a smartass grin on his face.

"We're finished," Mary Margaret deadpanned, not missing a beat. "Otherwise, we'd have locked the door."

Casey blushed, Jim snorted, and Greg winked at her from the mirror which she caught and suppressed a grin. While Mary Margaret was arranging her jacket and her hat on the foot of the bed, her back to him, Greg had managed to step into his shorts and discard the towel, and was now stepping into his pants.

"Ok, I'm glad you guys are here. I've briefed Maggie on the plan for tonight."

"Briefing. Is that what they're calling it now, Greg?"

"Jim, . . . ," started Casey becoming uncomfortable with the Commander in the room.

Mary Margaret had gotten up to put her bag by the door. On her way by, she swatted Gutterman across the head with her hat. "But you still haven't explained the sergeant's stripes and turning me into a marine," she said.

"My hope is that no one else is going to get a good look at you. I don't care about the poker players, because they aren't going to report anything. They are just as much in the wrong as we are for even participating in the trade. The manual thumpers would see the whole thing as stealing. I'm more worried about someone seeing you on the way off the island."

"It'll be dark by then, Pappy, and if everything goes the way it's supposed to, no one will be able to see too closely," said Casey.

"We'll go ahead and stow your gear and then meet you at the game at 0700," said Jim handing Mary Margaret's duffel to Casey and grabbing Greg's. "As you were, kids," said Jim, winking. Then he and Casey were gone.

Mary Margaret turned toward Greg who had finished dressing while all this was going on. "You think we're going to pull this off?"

"Everything's set up. It's more a matter of how smoothly things will go. Are you ok with your part?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll do it. But why all the secrecy. I mean I'm doing this voluntarily. If I get caught, I'll accept responsibility."

Greg made a face and sat on the side of the bed next to her. "I've tried to set some things up so that your presence on the island after you dropped that patient off can't be verified."

"So Richard can't file charges for assault . . . . " she started.

"Right."

"There's still Janet, who was a witness."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly?"

"She's been temporarily reassigned." For good measure, Greg had had her orders back dated so that it would appear she'd not been on Espritos when the confrontation with Richard took place.

"Really? And she agreed to this?"

"It's a win win for her. She doesn't look like she's contradicting Dr. Dick, so he won't see it as a betrayal. For some reason this matters to her."

"He can still report me. I can still get called in for questioning."

"I'm hoping to muddy the waters enough it won't come to that."

"How are you planning to do that?"

"He's had a blow to the head. He's under heavy sedation at the hospital and under observation and treatment for battle fatigue, and with any luck he'll never be able to prove you were here. And Janet's orders show her shipping out before that evening in the officer's club.

"You're gaslighting him."

"I'm having a little fun at his expense. It won't ruin him. And I'm trying not to beat the crap out of him, but I'm not making any promises."

You didn't have to go to all this trouble. I didn't really hurt him, but I have to say your plan has a certain elegance to it." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"We should get going," he said standing up.

A little before 0700, Mary Margaret and Greg arrived at the air hangar where the guys had met with the supply sergeant earlier and where the poker game was set to start. TJ was already in position at the crossroads between the hangar and the road leading to the airfield. He was sitting in the driver's side of a Jeep, with his crutches in the passenger seat He was the lookout in case anyone stumbled onto the site. His job was to alert them inside to any uninvited guests but also to give them the signal that it was time to move.

When Casey, Anderson and Jim pulled up in another Jeep, they all went inside. Pratcher, the supply sergeant and his players walked in a few minutes later as Mary Margaret and the guys were getting seated. Pratcher had a couple of men from the motor pool, and one from the hospital staff.

"What's with Tiny Tim out there?" the sergeant asked.

"Security," said Jim. "You're welcome to put one of your guys out there if you want."

"My guys are making sure our supplies are safely tucked away until this game's over."

"Greg and Jim subtly exchanged looks." Jerry and French were making sure those supplies were safely tucked away as well, but not where the sergeant thought.

"Nobody said anything about women playing," protested the non-com from the motor pool, dealing the cards.

"She's one of our best players," remarked Greg, picking up his cards.

"Pretty little thing, though," said the medical officer.

"This pretty little thing outranks you sport," said Mary Margaret, staring him down across the table. Then she picked up her cards and arranged them in her hand.

"Trust me, you don't want to make her mad," said Jim.

"Please don't. I'm not finished cleaning up the mess from the last man who made her mad," added Greg.

Mary Margaret shot him a look.

"You her errand boy, Boyington?" Sarge asked.

"Shut your mouth, Sergeant. Or you'll be sweeping your teeth up in a dustpan," said Greg, without heat, this was just ball busting now.

"Let's just play cards, shall we?" suggested Anderson.

"I promise I won't hurt anyone if we can just get on with it," said Mary Margaret.

They guys from Espritos won the first hand. The Black Sheep won the next. And they'd agreed to go best two out of three for the win. Mary Margaret was pretty sure that they'd need to make a break any minute, so she decided to get ready.

"I'm out," she said, tossing her hand down on the table. She pulled her hair back and tied it into a knot on the back of her head. She pulled her cap out of the pocket of her field jacket and put the cap on, making sure her hair was stuffed up in it.

Just then TJ tooted the Jeep horn 3 times, their signal that it was time to move. Two was for intruder. Three meant ready to roll.

She shrugged her jacket on and helped Anderson and Jim upend the table into the laps of the 4 on the other side. Mary Margaret bolted for the door while the fists started flying. She was almost there when a huge marine filled the doorway. He stood there with his arms folded, looking down on her as she skidded to a halt right in front of him. "It's gone, all of it. They've stolen everything," boomed the gargantuan in the doorway. She'd barely had a moment to think what to do when Jerry and French appeared and took him down. She dodged the falling pile of men and sprinted for the Jeep a good 50 yards from the hangar. She jumped into the back, and then moved up to the driver's seat as TJ moved over into the passenger's seat. He couldn't work the clutch and the gas with his injured ankle. Mary Margaret started the Jeep, threw it into reverse and executed a 180 degree skidding turn. She had to bring the Jeep to a complete stop before throwing it into gear again and heading straight for the hangar she'd just bolted from.

After he heard that his supplies were gone, the sergeant went to inspect the Black Sheep's supplies. He stepped over debris and dodged fighting men, to inspect one of the boxes. Empty. And the next one, and the next. He kicked at the stack of crates and boxes and several sailed through the air, light and empty. The sergeant was furious and jumped back into the fray. He caught Boyington with a glancing blow to the head. Greg whirled on him and dropped the sergeant with punch to his middle.

The fighting spilled out the door of the hangar. French and Jerry had made it back to their Jeep and were backing up into the knot of men fighting. Mary Margaret was still heading straight for them, blowing the horn, to get everyone's attention. The Marines dove out of the way as she brought the Jeep to a halt inches from Greg, enveloping him, Jim and Anderson in a cloud of dirt and dust. Greg and Jim climbed into Mary Margaret's Jeep and Anderson got in with Jerry and French, and both Jeeps took off for the airstrip.

The Sergeant and his players piled their own Jeep and peeled off after them.

Greg and Jim watched the rear while Mary Margaret threw the Jeep into higher gear making the engine scream. French was not far behind. "Head for the transport. He should be getting ready to move to the runway," shouted Greg from between the two seats." Up ahead, Mary Margaret could see their plane. When she was close enough, she brought the Jeep to a skidding halt as the supply plane was positioning itself to get onto the air strip. Greg and Jim got on either side of TJ and ran with him to the plane.

Greg ran back out the to the Jeep as French and Jerry pulled up next. The sergeant and his men were not yet in sight. Mary Margaret grabbed TJ's crutches. She handed French one of the crutches and told him what to do. Then she handed Greg the other and he wedged the crutch through the steering wheel. He pushed in the clutch, put the Jeep into gear, pushed in the gas with the crutch and wedged it into place. He slowly came of the clutch, holding his breath and hoping the Jeep wouldn't stall. The Jeep revved and held the gear. He hopped out, sending the Jeep into the night, hopefully directly into the path of Pratcher's approaching vehicle. French did the same with his Jeep. They could see oncoming headlights swerve out of the way of the two driverless Jeeps. There was shouting then running as the two men from the motor pool tried to catch and stop the Jeeps.

The distraction seemed to buy them the time they needed. Greg, Mary Margaret, French and Jerry ran for the plane. They all tumbled in and got the hatch shut. "Ok, Scotty, we're all in," shouted Greg.

"Is this how you always leave Espritos?" asked Mary Margaret, flushed and out of breath as the plane began taxiing down the runway.

"I'm usually a lot drunker, and it usually doesn't go this smoothly," said Greg grinning.

Mary Margaret looked around the cabin. The Black Sheep were sporting cuts and bruises; their uniforms were smudged with dirt and blood, some of it their own. Greg had a cut over his left eye that he was dabbing with the back of his sleeve, and was covered in a layer of dust from their escape from the hangar. They all looked happy as clams. She leaned her head back, still catching her breath and laughed. "God that was fun!" she said. The Black Sheep laughed with her. Then someone produced a bottle and passed it around.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

When they landed on Vella La Cava, Greg instructed his men to unload the supplies, while he took the Commander home.

When he pulled the Jeep up to her quarters, he turned off the engine and hopped out to get her duffel for her and walked her to her door.

"I know you didn't invite me to Espritos, so thanks for letting me crash your party," she said.

"You provided some of your own entertainment, " he joked.

"God! Richard! I had no idea!"

"Well, hopefully, that'll be the last you see of him for a while."

"I can only hope." She shook her head. She hesitated to ask the next question, but she wanted to know. "How do you feel about his involvement with Janet?"

"I think she has poor taste, but there was never really anything between us."

Just sex, she thought. What more was there between herself and Greg, Mary Margaret wondered.

He met her eyes when he found her watching him.

They stood on her porch for a moment, not knowing how to say goodnight.

"I'd better get back," he said finally. "I don't want those guys to tear the place down their first night back. They're pretty wound up," he said.

"I know the feeling," she said, still pumped from the events of the evening. She walked over to him and kissed him, aware that his arms had gone around her waist. He kissed her back. Neither of them tried to take things any further, just enjoyed the contact. She stepped away from him and picked up her duffel. "See you tomorrow, maybe."

"Yeah," he said. His hands were in his pockets, and he was watching her. Then he stepped off the porch and got into his Jeep. She heard him drive off as she closed the door.

The next day, Mary Margaret had a ton of paperwork to catch up on. Melinda had done a fine job of keeping everything running smoothly while she was gone, but Mary Margaret hadn't expected her to do everything. Besides, it kept her mind off the impending destruction of her career if everything caught up with her from Espritos.

"So how'd it go?" asked Melinda sticking her head in the office.

Mary Margaret looked up from the stack of requisitions and patient orders, and miscellaneous drudgery she hadn't missed over the last two days. "Well, we narrowly escaped the wrath of the supply sergeant on Espritos. My career may be in the toilet. Colonel Lard will probably show up here in a day or two or demand I show up for questioning."

"In other words, typical Blacksheep leave," offered Melinda. "But how'd it go with Greg?"

"We aren't screaming at each other, but we didn't exactly get to spend a lot of time alone together. And I found out my ex has been stationed there for the last month, and guess who he's taken up with?"

Mary Margaret filled Melinda in on the rest of what happened on Espritos.

"You can't say it's ever boring with the Black Sheep," said Melinda.

"You aren't kidding about that. I gather everything went fine around here?"

"Yes, SOP. Pretty peaceful with the boys gone, and we didn't get a lot of other patients. Everything look in order?" she asked motioning to the paperwork.

"Fine. Fine. Thanks for covering for me. And thanks for putting me in touch with Brenda. She was a big help. And I liked her."

"She's good people. Very discreet."

Greg came to the door as Melinda was leaving. "When can Boyle come back to base?" he asked.

"He's doing a lot better, Greg, but he still needs observation and lots of rest," said Melinda.

Greg looked at Mary Margaret.

"Don't look at me; I just got back here."

Becky stopped in at that moment. She had been visiting with Anderson and Boyle in the ward. "I'll go and check in on him in the morning. I'm off anyway. He really missed the guys. And some of the other girls will check on him throughout the day. We don't mind."

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows at Melinda asking her what she thought.

"Works for me. What do you think?"

"Run it by David, but I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

Greg rubbed his palms together, grinning. "Thanks girls," he said, and gave Melinda then Becky each a peck on the cheek.

Melinda went to find Doc Jennings and Becky went to tell Anderson and Boyle the news.

"You got right back to work," Greg said to Mary Margaret when they were alone.

"Keeping my mind off my impending doom."

"Don't worry about it. The fix is in."

She cocked her head at him. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"Always. Listen, I've got something for you."

"For me? Are you returning my reputation? My spotless record? My promising career?"

Greg chuckled. "Pour yourself a drink Commander. You need to relax."

Mary Margaret opened a desk drawer and produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses. After pouring and handing him one, she asked, "So what do you have for me?"

He fished around in his pocket and produced a small bundle of brown paper tied with twine and handed it to her. He'd come around to her side of the desk and perched on the edge of it. He drank from his glass as he watched her handle the present.

She slipped the twine off and opened the wrapper. Inside was a medical insignia pin worn by doctors in the medical corps. Her own insignia was from the nursing corps. They were of the same gold oakleaf design, but the medical insignia had a silver acorn in the middle. She looked at him, puzzled.

He'd watched her. The gift had occurred to him on their way back to La Cava. "Dr. Dick is wrong. You will got to medical school."

Mary Margaret was almost speechless.

Greg attempted to fill the silence, not wanting the mood to turn too serious, "It's stolen. But not Richard's," he added quickly.

"Of course not" she laughed, relieved.

"You could put it with your sergeant's stripes."

Mary Margaret laughed at that. "I could spend the war collecting mismatched insignia, ranks and crossing military branches."

Greg folded his arms looking down at her from where he was perched. He was about to say something when Anderson stuck his head in the door.

"Excuse me, Commander. Pappy, just thought you'd want to know we're taking Bobby back to base now," said Anderson.

"Ok, Bob. Thanks. I'll head back shortly."

"Lieutenant, you guys take it easy with him. Nothing too strenuous, and he can't drink!" added Mary Margaret.

"Yes, m'am," said Anderson, and he was gone.

"That won't do any good will it?" asked Mary Margaret.

Greg shrugged. "I'll make sure they keep it cool tonight, but I can't make any promises about the drinking."

"If any of my girls are there, they'll make sure he doesn't," she added.

"I have no doubt," he said standing. "I should get going. Would you like to come?"

"Not right now. I'm going to see if I can make a dent in this paperwork, but maybe I'll stop over later. Oh, and thanks for this," she said holding up the insignia.

"Wear it in good health, Doc," he said as he passed through her doorway into the hall.


	16. Chapter 16

Mary Margaret looked up at the clock on the wall and back at the stack of paperwork on her desk. She'd made a significant dent. She considered going over to the 214 and see how Boyle was doing and make sure he wasn't being too active. She could also take Greg his malaria medicine. She wasn't in the habit of delivering medicine, but it gave her an excuse to go see him. She poured herself some scotch and sat back in her chair. She thought back over the last couple of days. What had she hoped to accomplish by going over to Espritos? It had been Melinda's idea, but she hadn't needed a whole lot of convincing. But then Richard had been there. That had complicated things, but clarified others. Greg didn't have to fight her battles for her, but he'd arranged to put Richard in his place. He was looking out for her. She wasn't going to sit here and try to puzzle out what it all meant. The only thing she knew was how she felt when he walked into a room, or caught her eye, or when, good Lord, he touched her. And it was like nothing she'd ever felt before. It excited and terrified her. She stood up, pushed back her chair, and went home to change. ********** The Black Sheep were remarkably subdued and had brought the party to Boyle. Several pilots and nurses were packed into Boyle's and Anderson's tent. A few couples had drifted off to the beach or other private spots. Boyle was propped up in bed, a card game being played around him. The boys were letting him win a few hands. He was still pretty fuzzy headed. Anderson and Jerry had recounted the events of the night before to Boyle. "Man, I miss all the good stuff! So, Pappy, are they going to ship the Commander's ex out on a section 8?" he asked. Greg was sitting on Anderson's bed smoking a cigar and nursing a beer. "Nah, he's just getting some rest." "Greg went to a lot of trouble to cover up for the Commander, and she won't even sleep with him anymore," said TJ. Casey looked bewildered, "But I thought . . . when we walked in . . . " Casey looked from Greg to Jim. "She was putting you on, Casey. God! You're so gullible," said Jim laughing. Greg folded his arms across his chest, cigar clamped in his teeth and said nothing. Just then French laid his hand down and took his winnings to jeers and moans from over by Boyle. "Greg, we should be getting replacement pilots for TJ and Boyle tomorrow, "said Casey, changing the subject. Greg nodded, standing up to go. "Good. One can bunk with you and Jerry. The other with Anderson and Boyle." Then to the room, he said, "Let Boyle get his beauty rest. I'll see you at mess in the morning. All of you; make sure the others get the memo" he said, and left the tent. ****** Mary Margaret rapped on the frame of Greg's tent. "Come in," he called from inside. Mary Margaret ducked into the tent. She'd never been in there. It was a hell of a lot neater than his room on Espritos had been. He had a military style cot, a desk and a small table where he did some of his plotting for missions. A military issue foot locker sat at the foot of his bed. His quarters were very masculine and very olive drab. Music played softly from a radio on the desk. She recognized a tune popular a couple of years ago. "Who's your decorator?" she asked. "Uncle, Sam." "And Joe Lewis, "she said, indicating the heavy bag and speed bag. "Keeps me in shape so I can keep these knuckleheads in line. Have you seen Boyle?" "He was nodding off with his cards in his hands. That boy loves to gamble. Thanks for keeping things low key tonight." "Wasn't my doing. Occasionally, they exercise good sense. Drink?" he asked motioning to the bottle on his desk. "Why not," she said accepting a glass of scotch from him. "I brought you your antimalarial. I figured the hospital on Espritos only gave you enough for a couple of days. Promise me you won't let it run out this time." "Scout's honor," he said holding up 3 fingers in the Boy Scout salute. She cast him a dubious look. "You? A Boy Scout?" "I have the badges to prove it," he said, an impish look in his blue eyes. She laughed out loud. "I'll just bet you do." He chuckled, and moved to where she stood. Her hair was pulled back off her face, but it was down over her shoulders. He pushed her hair back off her neck and his thumb traced the line of her jaw. She was glad she had the scotch, but her heart was still racing. She was certain he could feel her pulse beneath his hand. As he leaned in to kiss her, Casey and Jerry walked in unannounced. "Hey Pappy, how come we have to take one of the sub pilots. Why not TJ and Gutterman?" demanded Bragg. Greg turned on his uninvited guests. "I've told you a hundred times not to just waltz in here without knocking. Can't you see the Commander and I were having a conversation." Casey and Jerry looked at Mary Margaret propped against the table with her glass of scotch. She tossed back the last of it and put the glass down, getting ready to go. "Looked like you were doing more than talking," said Bragg. "Shut up Jerry," whispered Casey "We're sorry Pappy. We didn't know," offered Casey. "I was just leaving," said Mary Margaret. Exasperated, Greg pointed at her. "You stay," he said sternly," then seeing the look on her face added, "Please. Casey and Jerry won't be long, will you meatheads?" "Right Pappy. Sorry M'am," said Bragg, flustered. "Now the reason you have an extra pilot and not Jim and TJ is that your tent is bigger. And also because I said so. Look, it's temporary,"he said, softening his tone. "TJ and Boyle will be back in their birds in no time." Mary Margaret confirmed this for them: "They should both be fine to fly in about a week according to Doc Jennings." "We just hate having to break in new pilots, Greg," explained Casey. "It's another excuse to have a party, guys. You'll get in the spirit once they get here. And I promise to let you haize them. Now get out of here, will you?" said Greg. Casey hesitated as if he had something else to tell Greg, then decided against it and said, "Come on Jerry, let's go," pushing Bragg toward the tent flap. "Good night, Greg. M'am." "Hey, guys," Greg said, causing them to pause and turn around. "The next time you walk in here without knocking, I'm going throw you out, then kick your asses all the way back to your tent." "Got it Pappy," said Casey. "Sorry Pappy," added Bragg as they turned back around and ducked out the door into the night. "Sorry about that. They do that all the time," said Greg refilling their glasses and coming to perch on the table by Mary Margaret. "The price you pay for being their CO," said Mary Margaret. Alone again, they didn't know what to say to each other. When the next song started on the radio, Greg set his glass down and took Mary Margaret's and put hers down. He took one hand in his and pulled her to her feet. He slid his other arm around her waist. Catching on to what was happening, she slid her other arm around his neck. "How is it that we've never danced together?" he asked, pulling her closer as they moved to the music. "You never asked. You didn't this time either," she said. He chuckled softly. "I don't hear you protesting." "Hmm," was all she said, giving herself to the feel of his arm around her, his face close to hers. She could smell his soap, cigar smoke, and scotch, the smells that lingered in her senses when she wasn't with him. She pressed her cheek to his and followed his lead. The song changed, but they continued dancing until someone knocked on the door frame. "What now?!" Greg muttered under his breath, close to her ear. Jim Gutterman ducked in. He took in Mary Margaret and Greg and asked with a grin, "Am I interrupting?" "Yes! You are!" growled Greg, releasing Mary Margaret, reluctantly. "Everyone is! Why is this place Grand Central Station tonight?" "Look, Greg. Casey had something else he wanted to tell you, and I think you need to hear it. The Commander too," Gutterman said, gesturing toward Mary Margaret. "Well? What is it? Don't keep us in suspense!" Greg was really losing his patience. "He wants us to meet him over at the ops shack. He has something to tell us." Over at the ops shack, Casey was sitting by the radio with his notes. "Go on Casey, tell them what you told me," urged Gutterman. "Well, Pappy, you know how Melinda's got this boyfriend over on Espritos, but nobody knows who he is?" "That's what this is about?! You dragged us over here to fill us in on the latest gossip?! Greg demanded, grabbing Mary Margaret's hand ready to pull her away. "Greg, listen to what he has to say," say Gutterman. "Ok, Casey, go on. This better worth the interruption," Greg said letting go of Mary Margaret's hand and crossing his arms. "Well sometimes I've sent messages for her or received them. Sometimes, I let her send them herself. They are always sort of coded. They don't make any sense to me." "Why all the secrecy? What's the big deal?" asked Mary Margaret. "I'm getting to that. I've always tried to respect her privacy. I mean, you know how hard it is around here to keep anything a secret, it's like everyone's personal business becomes front page news," said Casey, feeling the need to explain himself. Everyone standing in the ops shack murmured agreement. "Well, they never use their real names. Melinda always signs her messages "Little Bird." Mary Margaret looked over at Greg then at Gutterman to see if this was some kind of a joke. "And her boyfriend is "Tomcat." "That still doesn't explain why you need me to know all this, Larry. I don't care who Melinda keeps company with, and I don't think the Commander does either," said Greg. Mary Margaret only wanted to know because Melinda was always sticking her nose in her and Greg's business but wouldn't give up any of the details of her own relationship. "Get on with it, Casey," said Gutterman. "When we were on Espritos, this nurse that I uh, well, you know," said Casey coloring, was gossiping about General Moore. She said he was fooling around with some navy nurse, stationed on a front area, that one of his clerk's sends his messages for him and delivers hers. He can never make sense out of them, but the General is always in a good mood when one comes over the radio." Gutterman had a sly look on his face. "That old dog's got some new tricks, Greg." Greg rubbed a hand over his face taking all this in and wondering what if any impact it had on him and The Black Sheep. Mary Margaret planted her hands her hips. "I don't believe it! What the hell is she thinking?! The man's married!" "His wife's thousands of miles away, darlin'," drawled Gutterman, immediately realizing his error when Mary Margaret glared at him. "Ah, m'am." "I feel terrible telling y'all like this. She's trusted me," said Casey. "But I really thought you needed to know, Greg." "The General's always been on our side as long as we get results. I don't see how this changes anything," observed Greg. "And none of this is conclusive proof anyway." "I don't like it," said Gutterman. "It's like having a spy on the island." "Casey, have you told anyone else?" asked Greg. "Just Jim, Pappy, and now you and the Commander." "Right now, I don't want anyone in this room to tell anyone else about this," said Greg looking from one to the other. "Ok?" He looked around at everyone. Everyone agreed and left the ops shack. Greg walked Mary Margaret back to her Jeep. "We could finish that dance," he offered. "I'll take a raincheck. It's been long day. And I'm a little in shock about Melinda and General Moore." "Let's not jump to conclusions. Let's see what we can find out over the next couple of days. I'm supposed to meet up with him this week regarding some new orders. I'll see if I can draw him out. But hold off on talking to Melinda for now. Can you do that?" She made a face and rolled her eyes, which she wasn't sure he could see in the semi darkness. "I think I can manage." "Good girl!" he said and leaned into the Jeep and kissed her. "I'll collect on that rain check soon." She waved and was gone. "You get flamed, Pappy?" asked French, who had wandered up but hadn't caught any of their conversation. "Nah, Don. I'll live to fly another day," joked Greg. "What about you? Get lucky tonight?" he asked as they walked toward their quarters. "I got a steady girl. Every night's a winner." "Every night?" "Wellll…." Greg laughed and slapped French on the back as they parted ways, each toward his own tent. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 **The next morning the supply plane brought in aircraft parts and miscellaneous items Greg and Casey had traded for or managed to get ordered and approved. Greg imagined the supply sergeant over on Espritos was still steamed at him for his little bait and switch the week before, so he cautioned his men to open the crates and boxes carefully in case the sergeant included a little payback.**

 **Also on the plane were the two pilots subbing for Bobby Boyle and TJ while they recovered from their injuries. One of them was well known to the 214.**

 **"Hey! McCarthy! You get tired of the milk runs? Decide to get in on the real action?" shouted Don French as Roger McCarthy deplaned with his gear.**

 **"Are you kidding? This is a vacation for me, boys!" McCarthy returned. He stopped in front of Greg and offered a salute. Greg haphazardly returned it and shook McCarthy's hand. "Good to have you, Roger."**

 **The other pilot had joined the group assembled behind and around Greg and McCarthy. He saluted Greg. "Patrick Michael Collins, sir. It's an honor." Greg waved him off. There was something about the tall redhead standing in front of him that was familiar. "Collins," Greg paused. "Yes sir. My sister's stationed here over at the hospital. She's the admin." Greg's eyebrows shot up. "Maggie ….the Commander….does she know you're coming, son?"**

 **"I wrote her to tell her I was being stationed in the Pacific theater, but you know how the mail is. She might not have gotten it yet."**

 **Jim had his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels. "The Commander's brother. How do you like that?"**

 **"You'll have to give us all the dirt on your sister," prodded Jerry.**

 **"Come on you meatheads," said Greg. "Let's show our guests to their quarters, and then I want everyone at the ops shack for a briefing and patrol plans. We'll have a party tonight boys," said Greg addressing their visitors. "I imagine you'll get to see your sister then, Collins."**

 **The men broke up. Casey gave McCarthy and Collins their tent assignments and had their new tent mates show them the way.**

 **At lunch that day, the nurses were excited about the new pilots, about having a couple of different men to speculate about and flirt with.**

 **"I didn't know your brother was a pilot, Commander," said Mitsy.**

 **"How do you know my brother is a pilot?" asked Mary Margaret, looking at Mitsy likes the girl had been plundering around in her head and came up with that little nugget.**

 **"He's over at the 214, one of the guys filling in for Boyle and TJ," added Annie.**

 **"Patrick's here? Last I heard, he was in Europe." Mary Margaret was in shock that her baby brother was right here on Vella La Cava. Now, she couldn't wait to see him.**

 **"What's he like?" asked Melinda. "Is he all business like you?"**

 **Mary Margaret frowned at Melinda.**

 **"He's a good kid. Smart. Real sociable. I hope the Black Sheep don't corrupt him."**

 **"They corrupt everyone," said Rose. "Some just take longer than others."**

 **Mitsy and Annie got up to empty their trays and start their shifts, leaving Rose, Melinda and Becky at the table with Mary Margaret.**

 **"Jim said you were in Greg's tent last night, said you two looked pretty cozy," said Rose to Mary Margaret.**

 **Melinda and Becky leaned in.**

 **"What were you doing in Greg's tent?" asked Becky.**

 **"At one point, dancing," admitted Mary Margaret, remembering how good it felt to be in his arms before Gutterman interrupted them.**

 **"Vertically or horizontally?" asked Melinda which set Rose and Becky off laughing.**

 **"Vertically," said Mary Margaret, pinning Melinda with a look. "Take it easy all of you. We hardly had any time alone. That tent has a revolving flap. People in and out of it," said Mary Margaret.**

 **"You've got your own place," Becky reminded her.**

 **Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. "I just went over there to take him his medicine after checking on Boyle. I had no intention of staying or letting things go anywhere."**

 **"Why not?" asked Rose. "It's clear you two have the hots for each other. What's stopping you?"**

 **"She doesn't want to be another one of his ladies on the side," offered Becky.**

 **"Well, I can't blame her," added Rose.**

 **"Hello," said Mary Margaret. "I'm right here. Don't talk about me like I've already left the room, but now I'm going to. I gotta get to my office. I'm sure I'll see you all later." Mary Margaret took her tray and left the girls behind.**

 **"I don't know why they stopped sleeping together in the first place," said Becky. She shouldn't worry so much what he does when he's out of sight. She should just enjoy him while she's got him."**

 **"Like you do with Anderson?" asked Rose arching a brown. "You've been toying with that boy for months."**

 **"He's not serious about me," said Becky. "But right now he's the best offer I've gotten."**

 **"Any port in a storm, right Becky?" joked Rose.**

 **Melinda shook her head at this exchange.**

 **"We suppose you've got it all figured out?" quizzed Rose.**

 **"Hardly," laughed Melinda. "And Em's got to figure out what she wants. I think she knows; she's just not ready to act on it.**

 **"If not, everybody but her knows," said Rose. "We'd better get to work too," she said rising to go.**

 **"Not me," bragged Becky, "I'm off now. I'll see you ladies tonight!"**

 **#######**

 **Mary Margaret knew enough to get to the Sheep Pen early if she hoped to have anything like a conversation with her brother. She put on a light blouse and a loose fitting pair of trousers with a woven pair of flats shoes. She split her pony tail and fed the end back through the split, creating a bit of a roll in the back. Easy but still flattering and mostly off her neck. She supposed she should have dressed more for the occasion, but she was tired and didn't plan to stay long.**

 **She was nervous about seeing her brother. It had been over a year since she'd seen him last. It was before he'd gone off to Europe and she'd received her orders for the USS Comfort.**

 **When she walked into The Sheep Pen, her eyes lit on his red hair immediately. When everyone turned to see who'd just come in, he turned too. When he saw her, his face lit up and he let out an exuberant, "Emmy!" And as they met in the middle of the room he scooped her up in a hug, nearly lifting her off the floor.**

 **When he set her down, she looked into his face. He got his red hair and blue eyes from their father and he looked even more like him now that he'd been out in the South Pacific sun, giving his fair complexion a more weathered look.**

 **"You look great, Paddy," she said still gripping his arms. "I had no idea you were out here." They moved over to a table with Anderson and Becky. Even Boyle was out tonight, sipping at a beer.**

 **Across the room Roger McCarthy had watched the exchange from the Bar where Jim Gutterman and Casey were perched on stools.**

 **"That's Red's sister, huh? Good looking woman."**

 **Casey and Jim exchanged looks. "Don't waste your time McCarthy. She'll flame you before you start down the runway," warned Jim.**

 **"I like a challenge," said McCarthy.**

 **"No, really Roger. She um well and Greg …" started Casey.**

 **"Greg what?" asked Boyington walking up on the trio.**

 **"These two are trying to warn me off the Commander over there. You and her got a thing?"**

 **"A thing, McCarthy? You want to try your luck with the Commander over there, you go right ahead," said Greg making eye contact with Mary Margaret and giving her nod in greeting. She smiled back.**

 **McCarthy caught the exchange and looked at Greg, puzzled. "You two aren't . . . .?"**

 **"Aren't what McCarthy?" said Greg reaching for a beer.**

 **"You aren't going kick my ass if I uh . …"**

 **"McCarthy, if you do anything she doesn't want you to do, she'll kick your ass herself," said Greg and went to sit at a table with French and Jerry and some nurses.**

 **Mary Margaret and Patrick had regaled the table with embarrassing stories about each other from their childhood and had everyone in stitches. But it quickly became apparent that Patrick wanted to mingle and meet the nurses and drink with his new friends. Just as well since she was feeling claustrophobic and warm in the crush of bodies. She excused herself with a promise to catch up more tomorrow and headed for the door to get some air.**

 **Greg watched her go and watched McCarthy follow. Casey leaned over to Jim and said, "Want to bet on how long it takes him to come back in alone?"**

 **"Let's see if Boyle wants in on this," said Jim.**

 **Melinda joined Greg at the table. "What's going on?"**

 **Greg took a drag on a cigarette and said, "McCarthy followed Maggie outside to try and charm her."**

 **"I can't imagine that going well for him," said Melinda familiar with McCarthy.**

 **"He practically asked my permission."**

 **"Did he? He thinks you two are an item? And you told him go for it?"**

 **"I told him she didn't need me to kick his ass if he crossed the line."**

 **"And you are certain she'll flame him?"**

 **"I'm certain she can handle herself. If she succumbs to his charm, that's up to her."**

 **"But you don't think that's going to happen, right? You know she's stuck trying to decide whether to get involved with you again or walk away."**

 **"That seems to be the dilemma."**

 **"Are you going to help her out with that at all?"**

 **Greg looked over at Melinda. Studied her. "What exactly are you asking me, Melinda? And why do you think it's any of your business?"**

 **"She's my friend and I care about her."**

 **"I can say the same."**

 **This time, Melinda did the studying. Greg's expression told her the subject was closed with her. Damned infernal man, she thought.**

 **Outside the Sheep Pen, Mary Margaret breathed a sigh of relief to be alone. She looked up at the star filled sky.**

 **"Not much cooler out here, is it, Commander?"**

 **Mary Margaret turned to find Roger McCarthy at her side. He was good looking: dark haired, blue eyed, rangy in build. A couple years older than most of the pilots, somewhere between her brother and her.**

 **"Not really, no," she replied.**

 **"Would you like to take a walk? Maybe find a breeze on the beach?"**

 **"That's just what I had in mind, Lieutenant, but I'm going alone."**

 **"Roger."**

 **She looked at him.**

 **"Roger. Roger McCarthy. That's my name."**

 **"I see."**

 **The way she was looking at him wasn't leaving him any room to make a clever retort, to charm her. So he decided to take another tack. "You're little brother, Patrick. He's a good kid. Good pilot."**

 **"I know he is. Look, Lieutenant. I'm going to take that walk now."**

 **"It's Boyington isn't it?"**

 **She stopped and turned around. What did you say?"**

 **"It's Boyington. They told me you two had a thing," he said motioning over his shoulder.**

 **"A thing. Frankly, Lieutenant, the last thing I want is a short, torrid affair with a pilot."**

 **"Well, I was just thinking about a walk on the beach for starters, but I thank you for giving me credit for torrid," he said smiling at her.**

 **She could see where he might have some appeal, but it wouldn't be with her.**

 **She smiled at him then. "Lieutenant, I'm sure there are any number of girls, maybe even a couple back there in the Sheep Pen who would find you charming and exciting."**

 **"None of them hold a candle to you m'am," he said.**

 **"Flattery really won't get you anywhere," Mary Margaret said, laughing. "Goodnight, Roger," she said, walking off toward the beach. She couldn't help liking him.**

 **When McCarthy came back inside, a cheer went up and money exchanged hands. McCarthy was undaunted and threw up his hands in an elaborate shrug.**

 **Melinda got up, scooted behind Greg's chair and went out the door to find Mary Margaret.**

 **"Everything ok?" Melinda asked as she sat in the sand beside Mary Margaret.**

 **"Fine. I've just been around them so much, lately. I'm on testosterone overload. And it was so hot in there. I just wasn't in the mood."**

 **"I hope you were gentle with McCarthy. He didn't look too injured."**

 **"He's alright. Just barking up the wrong tree. He's been here before I take it? Everyone seems to know him."**

 **"Yeah, he's been out here before. He's a Black Sheep wannabe. He'd fit right in, actually, but he prefers to be the black sheep of his squadron. He stands out and gets more attention that way. He'd just be one among many in the 214. So he comes out here whenever they need a sub to keep his bad boy skills up, learn from the masters."**

 **Mary Margaret chuckled.**

 **"You're brother looks like you," said Melinda changing the subject.**

 **Mary Margaret looked at Melinda. "You think so? I never thought so. But boy is he looking more like my Dad every day." Mary Margaret sighed. "Makes me miss my Dad."**

 **"Must be nice to see Patrick though."**

 **"Oh, it is. So good. And he's thrilled to be flying with Greg."**

 **They both fell silent, staring out at the ocean, a breeze bringing some relief from the heat.**

 **"Mel, why all the secrecy with your boyfriend?"**

 **Melinda didn't take her eyes off the water. It took so long for her to answer, Mary Margaret thought Melinda hadn't heard her.**

 **"I can't tell you who he is Em."**

 **"Is it serious?"**

 **Melinda shrugged. "Do I love him? I don't know. But it's nice to have someone to turn to and feel alive with when we're surrounded by death and killing all the time."**

 **Mary Margaret pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her shins. "I can understand that. That's pretty much what goes on around here all the time."**

 **Melinda snorted. "True." She was thoughtful again. Choosing her words carefully. "I didn't expect it to happen. It just did. And maybe the fact that I can't talk about it makes it that much more exciting."**

 **"Why him? Whoever he is?"**

 **"Because he's not a child. I won't say he's not a skirt chaser. They are all skirt chasers. Women are novelties out here. But when we're together, it's just us."**

 **Mary Margaret nodded. The two women looked at each other. Mary Margaret was trying to think of something to draw Melinda out more.**

 **"He must be either high up in command or married if you can't or don't want to tell anyone who he is," she tried.**

 **"Married to the military, that's for sure," Melinda laughed.**

 **Mary Margaret gave up. Did it really matter? She decided to go with levity: "I know! It's MacArthur!"**

 **Melinda burst out laughing, and Mary Margaret joined her. She didn't like that her friend couldn't or wouldn't share this with her.**

 **"What are you going to do about Greg, Em?**

 **Mary Margaret stretched out her legs again and braced herself with her arms behind her. "I don't know. I don't want to overthink or over talk things. I'm trying to just see how it goes. We got off on the wrong foot. I rushed things with him kind of in a reaction against Richard and it backfired on me. I don't have any right to demand he not see anyone else. I'll just have to see what happens. If I'm enough for him, we'll figure that out."**

 **"You have been giving it some thought."**

 **"I guess it's been stirring around up here," she said pointing to her head. "I just haven't had anyone to say it out loud to."**

 **"How about saying it to him?"**

 **"Lately, we are always being interrupted."**

 **"Make the effort to be somewhere where you can't be interrupted."**

 **"I haven't wanted to be the one to initiate anything this time."**

 **"Do what you feel you have to Em. But don't wait too long. You never know when one of these guys isn't coming back."**

 **Mary Margaret knew Melinda was right. "God! I hate this war!"**

 **"We all do. Come on, let's head back. We can see if any of the other girls are ready to go home."**

 **They stood, dusting the sand off their backsides and headed back to the 214.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Had we but world enough and time . . . ."

To His Coy Mistress – Andrew Marvell

Chapter 18

Mary Margaret and Melinda were headed back to The Sheep Pen when Greg stepped out of his tent. "Evening Ladies. Maggie, you got a minute?"

Mary Margaret looked over at Melinda. ""I'll go collect the strays and take them home. You go ahead. I'm sure someone will get you back safely," offered Melinda.

Mary Margaret stepped into Greg's tent. "I was just about to open this bottle of wine. Join me?" he asked.

Mary Margaret cast a suspicious look at Greg. He rarely drank wine given the choice between wine and scotch. She knew he had scotch.

"Expecting someone?"

"Only you."

"Me? Why did you think I'd be back here?"

"We never really finished our dance the other night. You weren't considering McCarthy's offer were you?"

"No. McCarthy wants to be you when he grows up."

Greg frowned, puzzled. Was this good or bad? He handed her a glass of wine. A highball glass would have to do. He hadn't really planned ahead. He'd heard their voices and fished the wine out of a stash he kept.

"I don't know what to do with one of you, let alone one and a half."

Greg choked on the wine he'd just sipped.

"I could offer a few suggestions."

"Don't bother. We've slept together. I know what you like," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

"We've barely scratched the surface sweetheart," he said, not taking his eyes off of her.

"We did a pretty good job covering that surface." She wasn't backing down.

Greg cleared his throat. This was getting away from him.

"So what did Melinda have to say?"

"Not a lot. She won't tell me anything about who her boyfriend is. Have you talked to General Moore?"

"No. He was called away. Our orders were radioed over."

She opened her mouth to say something else when shouting echoed across the compound.

"That sounds like a fight. I'd better go check it out," said Greg.

"I'm going with you," she said, putting her glass down and following him toward the ruckus.

A crowd had gathered and men were cheering and shouting as the two in the center swung at each other. Greg stopped by Gutterman and asked what was going on. Mary Margaret was right behind Greg. "It's Patrick and Anderson," she said.

"Collins and Becky left The Sheep Pen together. Anderson crawled into a bottle of scotch then came out here to wait for Collins to come back."

"Aren't you going to break it up?" Mary Margaret asked Greg.

Greg held up his hand. "Give it a second. Let's see if they wear themselves out before anyone gets seriously hurt."

At 6'4, Anderson was taller than Patrick and possibly had 15 pounds on him, but Patrick was fast and knew what he was doing. Greg approved of his fighting form.

Anderson went down. He crab walked backwards a few steps and managed to get to his feet. He had a cut over his left eye. Patrick stood waiting to see if Anderson would come at him again. "I didn't want to fight you Bob. I didn't know. You gotta believe me."

Greg chose that moment to step between them, careful not to turn his back on either of them. "Ok, guys. Fight's over. I want to see both of you over at the ops shack, NOW!"

Greg led the way as the crowd disbursed. "Wait for me at my tent, please, we need to finish that conversation," he said to Mary Margaret as he walked by her.

Mary Margaret saw Patrick look back at her as he followed Greg and Anderson.

Back at Greg's tent, Mary Margaret topped off her wine glass and sat on his bunk. Meatball trotted in and hopped up beside her. "Hey buddy," she said scratching his ears.

Over in the ops shack Greg gave Patrick and Anderson chapter and verse about resolving their problems on the ground and not taking them upstairs. He told Patrick to go switch tent assignments with McCarthy and that he'd see everybody first thing at morning mess.

Anderson hung back to talk to Greg.

"Pappy, can I ask you a question about women?"

"Sure Bob. What's on your mind?"

"Becky kept telling me she wanted me to be more serious about her, you know. But I don't want to be serious, Pappy. I'm young. I've got my whole life ahead of me, and I don't know that I want to commit to one woman right now."

"Is that what she wants, Bob? Because surely she wasn't expecting that out of Collins, who's only going to be here a week, tops."

"That's just it. Why take up with him if she wants something more from me?"

"Got your attention, didn't it?"

"I'll say."

"The question is whether or not what got hurt's your ego or your feelings."

"Yeah, I guess I'm not sure about that. By the way, Patrick's not too happy about you and the Commander.

"He doesn't have a heck of a lot to worry about, not that it's any of his business."

"He's afraid you'll treat him differently because of his sister. He told Don about it. Anyway, we've noticed things seem to have cooled off with you two since Bobby got shot down."

"We're doing this mating dance that doesn't get consummated. Neither one of us wants to cross that line right now."

"I think you mean more to each other than a hot roll in the sack."

Greg stared at Anderson. Sometimes he struck Greg as a very old soul.

"It started out as a game for me, and to some extent for her too. But then she realized she wasn't good at the game, and drew a line in the sand. If we were going to sleep together, I had to curtail my extra curricular activities with other women. We had a big blowout over it before we left for Espritos."

"If I were you, I'd be asking myself how much I'd regret not being all in if I were to lose her tomorrow. You don't like us to think about dying, Pappy, but death's always snapping at our heels."

Greg already knew the answer. He knew he was putting off the inevitable. They'd end up back in bed together, and say what you will, sex with the right woman was more than a physical act.

"Bob, you clearly don't need me to help you figure out what you want."

"Well, talking about it helps, Pappy. Thanks."

"Anytime."

"Good luck with Commander, Pappy," Anderson said, getting up to leave.

I'm gonna need it, Greg thought, but instead laughed and said, "Thanks."

When Greg got back to his tent, Mary Margaret had stretched out on her side and Meatball was snuggled up to her belly. Greg shooed the dog down quietly and sat on the edge of his cot, one hand on either side of it, pinning Mary Margaret where she was. He watched her sleep, remembering other times since he's known her when he's had occasion to do so. When she was hurt in the blast at the hospital and he'd put her to bed. When he'd spent the night at her place, the last time they'd made love.

She stirred then. When she opened her eyes, she realized where she was and tried to sit up, but was impeded by his arms on either side of her. She propped herself up as best she could, and ran a hand over her hair. "Oh! God, I dozed off," she said, aware of how close he was and that he was making no attempt to let her sit all the way up and out of his reach. His eyes wandered over her hair and her face.

"What'd they have to say for themselves?" she asked, trying to ignore the way his gaze made her feel.

"Becky and Patrick went to the beach. Anderson got sore about it. I told them to work it out."

"Stupid! Do either of them need medical attention?"

"They'll be sore tomorrow, but probably not. I'll send them over to the hospital if it looks like anything we can't handle."

She attempted to sit up further, finally pulling her legs out from behind him and standing up. He stood with her.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

"I think I'd better before everyone starts wandering in and out of here."

"We could go back to your place," he suggested, flashing his dimples.

She shook her head. "Nah, I'd only fall asleep on you tonight, no offense."

"Tomorrow, then," and then he got an idea, "but I want to take you somewhere I don't think you've seen yet."

She turned to him by the door to his tent. "Oh? Like a makeout spot?"

"Sure. If that's what you want. What are we 15?"

She snorted. "Shall I meet you here?"

"That'll work, say around 0700. We'll still have a good bit of daylight."

"Now I'm curious. I'll see you then," she said, then ducked through the flap.

Greg looked back at his bunk, saw the indentation her head had left in his pillow. Meatball had hopped back up and curled in the center of his blanket. "Seems she'd rather sleep with you than me, fleabag," Greg said as he lay down with the dog. He could smell her scent on his pillow.

"


End file.
